The Card
by gaelicspirit
Summary: Five times Mac needed Jack but wouldn't admit it, and one time he did. Series of tags/missing scenes throughout S3. Mac was trained to find the solution, to be the solution. He was conditioned to internalize his struggles, his pain. Needing people was a liability. But then he lost a friend. And his carefully constructed world disintegrated around him.
1. Riley—Revenge Catacombs Le Fantome

**Title**: The Card  
Or… Five times Mac needed Jack but wouldn't admit it, and one time he did.

**Fandom:** MacGyver, 2016  
**Author**: gaelicspirit  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Characters:** MacGyver, Jack Dalton, Bozer, Riley, Matty, Desi and some bad guys - GEN

**Summary**: Series of tags/missing scenes throughout S3. Mac was trained to find the solution, to _be_ the solution. He was conditioned to internalize his struggles, his pain. Needing people was a liability. But then he lost a friend. And his carefully constructed world disintegrated around him.

**Disclaimer/Warning:** Nothing you recognize is mine. Also, I've taken some liberties with how events technically transpired in the episodes. Call it…artistic license.

**Author's Note: **I've never written one of these 5 + 1 stories before, but I enjoy reading them. June was a rough month. I changed jobs (which always comes with a bit of a steep learning curve), and then I lost my youngest sister to a sudden, unexpected illness…and that's a curve I haven't quite been able to tackle. As a result, I was struggling a bit with some hurdles in my original fic, so I decided a quick jaunt over here would help me clear them.

Aside from a friend's sanity read (thank you, pandi19) this is unbeta'd, so if you see something…maybe don't say something, just this once.

* * *

**1: Riley**

_3x08—Revenge + Catacombs + Le Fantome_

There were many ways to define hell.

For Riley Davis, the definition was one word: prison. Limitations of space, spikes of fear, a constant level of awareness. It wasn't until she was returned to the freedom of a normal existence that she realized Dante had a point: hell had many levels.

Like diffusing 126 IEDs in one day.

She watched Mac's face as he and Charlie recounted the Day of a Thousand IEDs and wondered how this man—someone no older than she—could compartmentalize what had to have been a terror-drenched day into a mere recounting of fact that could be used to aid in their current situation. Mac's low voice held a measured patience, one she'd come to associate with the whirring of gears in a mind that worked ten times faster than anyone else. His expression remained stoic, careful.

But his eyes exposed him.

There was a rawness caught in that blue, a sort of innocence that no one who had seen as much death and chaos as Mac had seen should still possess. And yet…he did.

_You know how you hack computers? Well, I…hack everything else._

In moments like this, when the odds were against them and the window of opportunity was actively shrinking, the confidence that captured her the day she met MacGyver was exposed as a carefully constructed façade hiding a tangle of impossible options it seemed only he could find a path through. Watching Mac remember Peña's death, remember that day of IED hell, made Riley want to help clear the path for him.

Having Charlie present almost made up for not having Jack nearby. Almost. The difference being, Charlie was skilled, adept, and the perfect partner to help unveil and possibly outsmart The Ghost. But Jack was Sundance to Mac's Butch. He was her friend's balance. And as their day grew more and more complicated, it was becoming increasingly evident that Mac needed that balance as he scrambled for a solution.

_I need you to start complaining…or-or tell me a long-winded story that doesn't seem to go anywhere. It…helps me think._

When the tunnel collapsed and they lost track of Mac, Riley felt her heart stutter. She was two seconds from texting Jack—if for nothing else, then to tell her that it was going to be okay—when Matty told them to trust that Mac could take care of himself. Every cell in Riley's body resisted, conflicting emotions a roar of sound in her head.

He was a professional. _He was a kid_. He was brilliant. _He was always alone_. He knew what he was doing. _He was anchor-less_. He was resilient. _He was hurting_.

Matty may have been correct about Mac being able to thwart an attack by The Ghost, but Riley doubted the woman was considering how much this mission had twisted Mac up inside. He was emotionally compromised—anyone looking at him could see it. And yet, he was pushing forward without a team, without Charlie, without Jack.

She wasn't sure if he was going to make it out of this one in one piece, even if he did survive.

Arriving at the safehouse without Mac—not knowing what they would find, or how they would deal with it—terrified her. Bozer stuck by her side as they split with Eileen to search the tunnels for any evidence of The Ghost or his bomb. They were almost too late.

She could feel Mac's tension the minute she and Bozer breached the room. It was like walking into a wall of panic. She took in the sight of her friend before she even saw the body on the ground. His face was smeared with dirt, a livid bruise marking one cheek. His hair stuck up in crazy tufts from the thrust of anxious fingers.

And his eyes.

The look there stabbed right through her.

"What are you guys doing here? Get out!"

His voice trembled. His voice _never_ trembled.

Riley felt the heat from Bozer's presence near her, reassuring, solid.

"I'm not even sure I can stop this thing."

She followed his gaze as he skimmed what looked like a giant metal box—almost as tall as Mac and wide enough it would take all three of them to get their arms around it. Mac's hands shook as they hovered near the large, digital timer. She knew he'd been caught in the blast that sidelined Charlie; she didn't know how he'd gotten from there to here, nor if he were injured in places she couldn't see.

But he was clearly rattled.

"Mac," her voice grabbed his attention, briefly. "We're not leaving you."

"That's right," Bozer chimed in. "You stay, we stay."

Mac's eyes skipped over them and landed on the body, his frame visibly shuddering. He was spiraling, thoughts leaving footprints across his expression.

"Eileen…killed The Ghost," he stammered, memories wrapping around his words until they sounded strangled, suffocated. "He was her father…. I…I didn't know she was gonna do it until she did it," he looked up at them and Riley felt an invisible hand of fear close around her throat. "When he fell, his dead-man switch armed the bomb."

Riley didn't know a thing about bombs—but she did know her friend.

"Can you disarm it?"

Mac was shaking his head before she'd finished her question. "No…the thing is too heavy. I can't…I can't lift it," his voice shook as his words picked up speed, panic bleeding from him, erecting roadblocks in that brilliant mind. "The components are underneath. He put them there. It's too heavy…," he moved around the large block in the center of the room, his hands hovering, uncertain. "I can't lift it. No," he shook his head, "I can't…I can't do it."

"Hey," Riley tried to break in, stepping forward. _God_, she wanted Jack there. "Hey!"

"It's actually impossible," Mac rambled, bringing his shaking hands up to his hair. "It's _impossible_!"

"Hey," she tried again, this time stepping up into his space, hands grabbing for his arms. She could feel him tremble beneath her fingers. What would Jack do? What would he say?

_Center him. Remind him who he is. Get him working the problem. _

"Hey, you always say emotions are more dangerous than the bomb at your feet," she tightened her grip, drawing his eyes, the blue there standing out against the burned red of fear. "You can do this. You need to focus."

Mac blinked. He looked at her, then his eyes darted over her shoulder and around the room. And she marveled at how quickly clarity returned.

"Actually, I have an idea."

She offered him a tremulous smile. "Of course, you do."

He was a flurry of motion she couldn't track. She felt Bozer mimic her posture and position, just staying out of Mac's way as he rigged up what appeared to be a pully system in a gamble for their lives. He made them part of the solution, positioning them and handing them ropes, trusting them to trust him.

"All right, now it's just mechanical advantage and simple physics," Mac said, his voice regressing to the mean, leveling out and balancing now that he was back in familiar territory of resolution. "You guys pull, I'll sneak under and disarm it."

Riley tried not to whimper at the realization that the only thing that kept Mac from being crushed by the weight of the massive bomb was the strength of his friends.

"You ready?"

"Yup," Bozer replied for both.

They lifted and he slid beneath until all that was visible were his legs, bent slightly, heels digging into the cement as though to brace himself. She could hear him mumbling to himself, as though walking through the connections of the wires, toggles, switches. For a moment, she wondered if he was talking to them—it sounded like a one-sided conversation, but she couldn't make out the words.

The tarp began to rip.

She met Bozer's eyes. His grip was solid, steady, but the tension was clear in the lines on his face. She knew hers reflected much of the same.

"Mac, we're running out of time," Bozer warned him.

"We have 58 seconds, according to the countdown," Mac replied, his voice muffled by his position.

"Yeah," Riley tightened her grip, "according to the tarp, we have less."

"Oh, great," Mac muttered, and Riley exhaled slowly, trying to keep her grip steady.

The tarp ripped further.

"Oh, I got it!" Mac called from beneath the bomb. "I got it."

He rolled free, tucking into his side and jerking his head clear just as the tarp ripped too much for their pully system to save. The bomb dropped to the ground, yanking Riley and Bozer forward. For one moment, no one moved.

No one so much as breathed.

And then Mac's exhale echoed in the silence.

Riley met Bozer's eyes briefly, then turned to look toward where Mac shoved himself upright against the side of the heavy metal box, his legs pulled up to his chest, elbows on his knees, fingers tangled in a white-knuckled grip on his hair. His eyes were trained on the body lying within arm's reach of his position.

There were many ways to define hell, Riley recognized.

Like being confronted with the person who had inflicted personal terror multiple times in one lifetime, and then watching him die. Or being expected to—no, _counted on_—to solve an impossible problem, to save innocents once again no matter the forces against you. Or having to do it all without the one person who always had your back offering reassurance.

"He's gone, Mac," Riley said quietly. "It's over."

Mac nodded. "Yeah," he choked out. She could see his body trembling. "Yeah," he repeated in a whisper.

She made her way carefully around the now-dead bomb, kneeling in front of Mac. Gently, she rested her fingers on his narrow wrists, wanting to ease the hold he had on his hair, wanting him to uncurl, wanting him to exude that confidence she'd seen when she first met him.

Wanting him to be _Mac_.

Super-human, able to solve all manner of problems, undeterred by fear or doubt.

"You okay?" she asked, softening her voice, hoping to draw him out.

He wasn't. Anyone with eyes could see that.

"He hurt Charlie," Mac said in a low voice. "Tried to kill Jack. _Twice_." A strangled sob slipped out between his words. "He killed Peña."

"He can't hurt anyone anymore," Riley said, choosing not to draw attention to the fact that Mac completely left himself off that list.

"It was supposed to be me," he whispered, and she knew if she could see his eyes in this moment, it would break something inside her. "He made it for me."

Unsure exactly what he was referring to, Riley simply shook her head. "It's okay," she soothed.

Mac uttered a low groan, as though trying to stifle a lifetime of tears, and Riley saw his fists tremble in their grip of his hair. She rested one hand over his, softly _shhh_ing him, needing him to never make that sound again. If loss had a sound, that would be it.

She exhaled slowly, unconsciously encouraging Mac to match her breathing. Slowly, as if his hands were made of stone, Mac released his hair, adrenalin bleeding from him and turning his arms limp in her hands. She scooted forward, sliding her hands from his wrists to his shoulders.

"Hey," she tried.

He wasn't looking at her. He wasn't looking at much of anything. She moved one hand to his face, startled at how cold his skin was as she cupped his jaw.

"Mac, hey," she repeated softly. He tracked to her voice then, his blue eyes wide and glazed. "You beat him. We're okay. All of us."

He nodded shakily, eyes beginning to clear. She wanted to hug him, to hold him tight until that broken look left his eyes. But hers weren't the arms that would put him back together again.

"Want to call Jack?" she asked softly.

Swallowing hard, Mac stared at her for several heartbeats, a personal war raging in his eyes. He wanted to, she could tell. He _needed _to. But instead, he shook his head.

"You sure?" Bozer spoke up from behind them. "He's gonna flip when—"

"No," Mac stated, the tremble gone from his voice. "I got this."

He pulled free of Riley's hands, pushing shakily to his feet. Once upright, the adrenalin dump caught up with him—and most likely the bruises and concussion he was no doubt nursing as a result of being trapped in an explosion and cave-in—and he wavered on his feet, instinctively reaching out to balance himself with the large, metal box containing the bomb. He blinked hard, as though fighting to bring the world into focus.

"Mac…." Riley whispered.

"I can do this…," he muttered, swallowing hard. He lifted his chin, pulling in a slow breath. "I don't…I _can't_ need…."

Shaking his head as though hoping the words he was searching for would fall loose, he glanced over at Bozer. "We'll tell him later. There's nothing he can do now anyway."

Bozer reached down and offered Riley a hand up. She frowned at the determined set of Mac's jaw, the way his eyes hardened and narrowed as he took in the room once again, gaze skimming across The Ghost's body.

"Mac, it's okay to need a touchstone, you know."

His eyes cut over to her. "I'm good," he said, decisively, as though working to convince himself. "You said it yourself: it's over. We don't need to worry Jack for no good reason."

No good reason. Riley frowned. _Mac_ was a good reason. The trauma he'd experienced was a good enough reason to connect with his friend and partner.

_Mac compartmentalizes his feelings better than anyone I know…._

Swallowing her protest, she nodded and followed Mac and Bozer out of the small room, knowing that Mac would continue to beat the odds, find the impossible solution, track a path through a tangle of possibilities, and pull off the impossible.

No matter what it did to his emotions.

No matter how many pieces of him broke inside.


	2. Bozer—Wilderness Training Survival

**2: Bozer**

_3x13—Wilderness + Training + Survival_

There were few moments in Wilt Bozer's life where he'd been afraid.

He immediately added the sound of a gunshot echoing in through the trees as he wrapped Riley's bleeding leg to that short list. He wasn't what one might call a courageous person—most thought him to be nervous, flighty even. But he hadn't often been truly _afraid_, mainly because he had good parents and a best friend who seemed to have a solution to every problem.

In fact, the only times in his life when he'd felt true, unmitigated fear involved the sound of a gunshot.

Heading in the direction of the billowing smoke, he crashed through the trees, Riley at his side. Panic licked at their heels as they came on the scene of the burning crate, Gio's prone body and just beyond, Mac lying too still next to a scattered, dying fire.

"Mac!"

Bozer didn't recall moving from the tree line to his friend's side, but he found himself suddenly kneeling next to Mac, staring horrified at the blood soaking through Mac's cargo pants. There was a roaring in his ears as he watched Riley's hands at Mac's wrist, then his face.

All Bozer could do was stare at the blood on Mac's leg.

"Mac, hey," Riley entreated with a gentle edge to her voice that Bozer rarely heard.

Mac stirred weakly, his eyes blinking open, pain-laced and glazed. They rolled a bit, seeking an anchor, until he caught sight of them and stilled.

"You guys okay?" Mac asked, his words slow and slurred. He sounded drunk, and it was such a _wrong_ sound in his friend's voice, Bozer blinked aware.

"Okay? You got a bullet in your leg!" Bozer exclaimed, his heart slamming against his ribcage with pure, unmitigated panic. "You need to tell us how to get it out."

Mac's eyes rolled in his direction and Bozer felt his throat close. There weren't many moments in his recent memory where Mac wasn't watching out for him, saving his life, standing up for him. When they were kids, it had been Mac who'd needed looking after, protecting. But once he left for Afghanistan, things shifted.

He saw war, he saw death.

And he came back different. Tougher, and yet somehow…more fragile than ever.

"You don't," Mac groaned, reaching for his leg as thought to stem the pain. "Y-you…just stop the bleeding and…and dress the wound."

Bozer blinked. Dress the what now? How in the _hell_—

"What do we dress it with?" Riley asked, down to business. And thank God for her, because Bozer was seriously freaking the fuck out. There was a lot of blood, and Mac was growing paler by the second.

"Yarrow," Mac gasped, gaze sliding out of focus.

"Yarrow?" Bozer bleated, grabbing for Mac's reaching hand and curling their fingers together.

"It's a white flower," Riley said, climbing to her feet, eyes darting around the clearing. "Grows in clusters. Should be all around here."

Before Bozer asked her how the hell she knew that, she was gone, and he was left with Mac's trembling fingers held in his grip. Mac blinked sluggishly, drawing in a slow drag of air, his free hand splayed out to the side as if he were trying to stop himself from falling off the edge of the earth.

Bozer started to shift his grip when he noticed the red, swollen skin on his friend's palm and lancing up two of his fingers—almost as though Mac had grabbed hold of a fire ball. Bozer glanced to the smoldering coals just to the right of them.

Which it seemed like he must have in order to keep the bad guy from ending him.

Bozer gently clasped Mac's burned hand thumb to thumb, avoiding the worst of the burns, and pressed the back of his hand to Mac's chest in a move he'd seen Jack do several times to ground his friend—and _God_ how he wished Jack were here now. It was only then he noticed the bruise along Mac's jaw, the blood on his lips.

"All right, buddy," Mac gasped, blinking his blue eyes wide. The blood at the corner of his mouth started to slide down across the bruise on his chin as he talked. "Y-you're gonna have to…to put pressure on it."

Son of a….

He knew Mac was right, but damn if he wanted to cause his friend more pain. He released his hold on Mac's hand and pressed hesitantly onto the wound, grimacing as Mac groaned.

"Too much?" he asked worriedly.

"Oh no," Mac shook his head, short of breath. "Not enough."

Taking a breath, Bozer pressed hard. Mac cry of pain sounded as though it had been ripped from his gut, dragging across the cold quiet of the clearing to smack Bozer across the face. It was ragged and rough and something he'd never in his life heard from Mac before and would do _anything_ to not hear again.

He tightened his grip as Mac instinctively twisted away, unable to hold himself still. Curling his hands into loose fists at his side, Mac rolled to his back, clear effort in the motion. He was gasping, his breath rasping through blood-stained lips.

"Yep, that's it," Mac reassured him. Reassured _him_.

The guy was lying here bleeding from a hole in his leg, and he was trying to make sure Bozer was okay.

Riley slid down in the dust next to him, a cluster of white flowers clutched in her fist. Bozer held on to Mac's leg, ignoring the slide of blood soaking through his gloves, focusing instead on Mac's harsh gasps for air. Riley was using two rocks like a mortar and pestle, grinding the flowers into a paste.

"All right, n-now," Mac instructed, "pack the wound…and wr-wrap it tight."

Bozer tore the hole in Mac's cargo pants wider to expose the wound, then ripped his remaining coat sleeve loose.

Riley collected the paste between her nails. "You ready?"

Mac nodded shakily. "Yeah."

Grimacing, Riley pressed the yarrow paste into the bullet wound and Mac dug his heel into the dirt, his neck arching back as a sobbing groan slipped out between his clenched teeth. Not wanting to prolong his friend's pain, Bozer wrapped the sleeve around Mac's leg and tied a knot over the wound. Mac cried out but was shaking his head.

"Tighter," he gasped. "We're gonna…gonna have to do it t-tighter."

Bozer glanced desperately at Riley. "You see any vines?"

She looked around, worried, eyes darting among the packs and remnants of gear scattered by Gio and his crew.

"I've got something better," she declared, reaching for a long, black cord. "Here, this is stronger."

Mac blinked blearily at them as Bozer helped Riley tuck the cord beneath his leg. "Yeah, that'll work."

They pulled the cord into a tight knot and Mac screamed. Bozer felt something crack inside of him at the sound.

"Sorry, Mac!" Riley all but whimpered.

"'s okay," Mac made a slicing motion across his neck, indicating they should stop. "That'll do."

Bozer exhaled, relieved, but then saw Mac's eyes start to roll again, as though he were looking for someone, something, unable to hold onto consciousness without something to moor him.

"Now…the hard part," he slurred, blinking slowly. "Get me…to a…h-hospital…."

Fear spiked through Bozer as Mac's body seemed to sink into the earth, his eyes sliding closed.

"Mac?" Bozer called, daring to jostle his leg. "Mac!"

Riley pressed her fingers against Mac's neck and exhaled sharply before looking back at Bozer.

"Take his legs," Bozer ordered. "We gotta carry him."

Because _no way_ he was losing his best friend in the middle of the damn wilderness. No way.

"It's too far," Riley shook her head. "We'll never make it out of the woods in time."

Bozer looked back down at Mac's lax face, and the stain of blood on his leg. "So, what are we going to do?"

He could hear panic choking his voice, turning it high and tight. Young. He sounded way too goddamn young right now.

He needed to get a grip. Mac was counting on him.

Riley's face lit up and he felt himself breathe again.

"Looks like Mac was building a sled," she jutted her chin over to where the wooden crate now lay smoldering. "We can finish it and use it to drag him out."

There were times Bozer wondered if they really did work at a think tank—between Mac's genius and Riley's ingenuity, he and Jack were a close tie to lowest common denominator. Something of his concern must have shown on his face because Riley rested a hand on his shoulder as they made their way to the make-shift sled.

"You were amazing, Bozer," she assured him. "You were right there with him, exactly what he needed."

"Yeah, well," Bozer tugged his blood-soaked gloves free and lifted the end of the sled, yanking it from beneath the crate remnants. "Didn't know what _yarrow _was, I can tell you that much."

"You knew how to brace him, though," Riley pointed out, grabbing several of the loose branches Mac must have cut down earlier. "I saw what you were doing with that hand trick."

"Picked that up from Jack," Bozer confessed, grabbing more of the black cord from the pile Riley had found. "You've seen him do that with Mac before—when he's hurting or has a nightmare. I saw him do that when they came back from Afghanistan. Just thought…y'know, what would Jack do?"

They moved in tandem, as though they'd been constructing make-shift travois their whole lives. They barely acknowledged their actions; they simply worked together.

"He'd kick that Gio guy's ass that's for damn sure," Riley muttered. "I think Gio killed those other two," she nodded toward the two other bodies in the clearing. "Made Mac build this sled to keep all the money for himself."

"Was probably planning on killing Mac, too, when he was all done," Bozer snarled. "Came close enough, as it is. You see his hand?"

"No," Riley paused as she wrapped the cord around the last of the supports.

Bozer tugged a knot tighter. "Burned the palm of it—like he grabbed onto hot coals. I'm guessing to keep that bastard from taking him out."

"He's going to be okay, Boze," Riley stated, as though speaking it out loud would make it true.

Bozer glanced back over his shoulder at Mac's still form. "He's not waking up," he observed worriedly.

"Yeah, well," Riley grimaced. "We still have to move him."

Together, they completed the sled faster than Bozer anticipated. The fire that had destroyed the crate of money had burned down to a smoldering pile of ash and as they moved over to were Mac lay, Bozer shivered. His coat was nearly worthless without either of his sleeves, but both of his friends were wounded, and he wasn't about to complain.

His mama raised him better than that.

"Mac?" Riley crouched down by Mac's head, one hand gently cupping the side of his bruised face. Mac didn't stir at her touch, his lips slightly parted, his mouth slack. "Hey, Mac can you open your eyes for me?"

Riley glanced up at Bozer, worry puckering her brow.

"Mac, c'mon, man," Bozer tried, kneeling on the other side of his friend. "Gonna need your big brain to tell us how to get out of here, now."

He looked down at the bandage wrapped around Mac's thigh; it was dark with blood. The packing may have slowed the bleeding, but the bullet was still in there and they needed to get Mac to help.

"His face is cold," Riley reported. "And kind of clammy."

"Well, at least he's not running a fever," Bozer offered, trying to remember the stages of shock. He was pretty sure cold and clammy was on it. And that scared him to death. "C'mon, we can do this. You take his arms—under the shoulders, yeah, there. I'll grab his legs."

On a three count, they lifted Mac from the ground. Bozer jerked and nearly dropped Mac's legs when his friend cried out from the pain of movement. He didn't open his eyes, though, and Bozer was somewhat glad for that. Together, they maneuvered Mac over to the sled and laid him on the logs with his head on the elevated portion.

"He's going to slide down if we don't—" Riley started, gasping from the effort of holding Mac in place.

"I got you." Bozer released Mac's legs and grabbed the last of the black cord, working with Riley to loop it under his friend's shoulders and secure him to the sled.

Mac moaned, a weak-sounding protest of pain that made Bozer's heart clench. He rested a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Hang in there, Mac," he pleaded. He glanced at Riley. "I'm gonna just say it again: I wish Jack was here."

"You and me both," Riley wiped sweat from her upper lip, then with one last worried glance at Mac, took up her post on one side of the sled.

Bozer joined her and they began to pull the sled through the forest, trying to avoid as much of the underbrush as possible. They'd been walking about ten minutes when Bozer heard Mac's voice break through the near silence of their panting exertions.

"Jack?"

As one, he and Riley stopped pulling, glancing at each other. Riley nodded once at Bozer and he released his edge of the sled to check on Mac.

"Hey, Mac," he greeted, relieved to see that his friend's blue eyes were open, though glazed and unfocused. "You with us?"

"Boze?"

Bozer grinned, reaching for Mac's unburned hand and resting it against Mac's chest. "Yeah, hey. You okay?"

It was a stupid question, but it just slipped out. Of course, he wasn't okay—he had a damn hole in his leg. And he was friggin' pale and…shit, when did he start shivering this much?

"Mac?"

"Some…somethin's wrong," Mac slurred, blinking slowly, looking around him with a dazed expression. "Where's Jack?"

"Jack's not here, Mac," Riley said, moving around the end of the sled. "Can you tell us what's wrong?"

Mac simply blinked at her, visibly shaking in the chilled air. Bozer frowned at the pale, dry lips, the sluggish breathing, the growing stain on his leg.

"Riley, I think he's going into shock," Bozer said, hating the edge of terror that skirted his words. "What…what do we do?"

"Uh…okay," Riley swallowed, rubbing her forehead as she tried to remember. "We need to, uh, elevate his legs, and…uh, get him warm."

How the hell…?

Riley reached for the cord securing Mac to the sled and Bozer joined her, working to pull their friend from the wooden slats. Mac whimpered, biting his lip to keep from crying out—which gave Bozer hope that he was a bit more aware than a few minutes ago if he was trying not to worry them. They dragged him slightly, rotating him until his feet were elevated on the ramp of the sled.

Bozer stole a look at Mac's face: his eyes were closed tightly, and he was breathing harshly through his nose, one hand clenched into fist, the other curled into a painful looking claw as he crossed his arms over his chest. He was shivering so hard, Bozer heard his teeth clicking together.

"How are we going to get him warm?"

"I got an idea," Riley said. "Stay with him; I'll be back. Try to start a fire or something."

"Right," Bozer frowned as Riley limped hurriedly away. "Okay, let's just consider this my final test, how's that sound?" Bozer glanced over at Mac and saw his friend's blue eyes were tracking him. "You stay right there, okay? I'm going to get some branches or something."

Mac just blinked at him almost blankly, as though he didn't know who Bozer was. Pure, horror movie-level terror shot through Bozer, the idea that Mac was lost inside his own head scaring him more than his friend's slurred mumblings. He kicked it up a notch, hurrying to gather up as much loose kindling as he could.

"Now, you know I had a ton of respect for your gramps, Mac," Bozer called back, just to give his friend a voice to track, "but leaving you out in the middle of the woods for two days trying to figure out how to start a fire was just cruel. Lemme see if I can find me some of that…fireweed."

Successful in his search, he came back to Mac and started to clear debris away, stacking up the tinder and using the fireweed to strike a flame.

"How 'bout that, baby!" He whooped. "First time!" He grinned over at Mac and saw with dismay that his friend was once more unconscious, his lips turning slightly blue. "Aw, no, c'mon, Mac."

Crawling around the fire, Bozer knelt at Mac's head, relieved to feel regular—if somewhat stuttering—breaths puff out through his parted lips. He pulled his friend's head and shoulders up into his lap and wrapped the tattered remains of his coat around both. He could hear Mac's teeth chattering in time with his rough breathing.

"Man, okay, I know I'm not Jack and I know you been through a lot with him, but," Bozer held Mac tighter, resting his chin on the top of his friend's head, "I need you to be okay. I can't…." He shook his head, emotion, exhaustion, and fear choking off his words. "Just need you to be okay."

They lay tangled next to the small fire for a few more minutes before Bozer heard Riley crashing through the underbrush behind them. He twisted to look over his shoulder and saw with amazement that she held three coats in her arms, and something dangled around her neck.

"Don't judge me," she said, panting as she dropped the coats next to them, "but I literally just took these off of two and a half dead people."

"A half?" Bozer frowned as she paused to catch her breath.

"Gio…may or may not be dead, but I wasn't waiting around to find out."

"Far as I'm concerned, he deserves to be left in the dust," Bozer said, reaching out for one of the coats. He started to ease out from beneath Mac before wrapping the material around him, but Riley put her hand up.

"Stay there," she said. "The extra body heat will help."

Nodding, Bozer tucked the arms of the spare coat around Mac's shivering body, pointedly ignoring the splatter of blood on the material.

"I also got this," Riley swung a canteen out from around her neck. "There's not much in it, but it's better than nothing."

"Here," Bozer propped Mac's head up, one hand cupped around his friend's bruised jaw.

Riley eased the edge of the canteen against Mac's blood-smeared lips and winced as their friend choked on the liquid at first, then gulped down several sips. Riley capped the canteen, saving the rest of the water, and then moved to add more wood to the fire.

"Scary seeing him like this," Bozer said absently, tightening his arm around Mac's chest. "Y'know, every other time he was hurt bad…Jack was right there with him. Even when I didn't know what he did for a living."

"Yeah," Riley rotated and rested her forearm on her bent knee. "How'd that work anyway? Not like you can just…explain away a gunshot wound."

Bozer shook his head, tucking the edges of an extra coat around Mac's legs. "I should have googled what a 'think tank' was…I believed all kinds of stuff. When Nikki got him shot? Jack told me he'd come down with a bad flu and was staying at his place so he wouldn't get me sick. Then he comes home with a story about his girlfriend getting killed in a car wreck and I gave him his space."

"I guess he does lie for a living," Riley conceded. "He was pretty wrecked after El Noche, though." She shook her head, her eyes going distant as she remembered. "They basically waterboarded him with nitrogen."

Bozer rolled his neck, fear a hand at his throat. "He didn't talk about it much, even after I found out the truth. I can't imagine what that must have been like."

"Don't feel too bad," Riley sighed. "I _was_ there, and he still didn't talk about it. He kinda acted like he was supposed to…I don't know. Take the punishment or something. If Jack hadn't been there…."

"Jack?" Mac rasped.

Bozer looked down, tightening his grip. "Hey, Mac, there you are, man."

"Where…what…?"

"Survival training," Bozer filled in. "Middle of nowhere, random bad guy shot you."

Mac shifted and cried out as he moved his leg. "Right."

"You were going into shock," Riley supplied, moving closer to them. "We had to warm you up."

"How…how far…?" Mac asked, sounding way too dazed for Bozer's liking.

Riley met Bozer's eyes. Way too far. "Probably another two hours."

"Gotta go," Mac breathed. Bozer felt the muscles along his back tense up as he tried to pull himself away. "Need to…to get out…."

"Easy, hey," Bozer held him close. "We'll go, just as soon as we get you warmed up."

Mac shifted again, closing his eyes with a low groan. "Tell Jack," he panted. "Tell him…."

"Jack's not here, man," Bozer reminded him.

But Mac wasn't listening. He shook his head again, insisting. "Tell him."

"You can tell him yourself as soon as we get you out of here," Riley said, putting her hand on Mac's arm, stilling his movements. She looked up at Bozer. "I don't think we can wait any more. Look at his leg."

Bozer did, wincing. The blood stain was growing. "Okay, Mac, we're going. You just hang in there."

Riley kicked out the fire, then positioned herself on Mac's other side. Bozer pushed to his feet, growling slightly as he stamped his feet.

"My damn leg went to sleep," he muttered, helping Riley rotate Mac once more.

They both grimaced when Mac's moan of pain abruptly ended as he went limp in their arms. Securing him again to the sled, they tucked the extra jackets around him once more. Riley opened the canteen and started to give it to him, then paused.

"We don't stop," she said. "Not until we're back at Freddy's."

Bozer nodded. "We're getting him the hell out of here."

"Then we need this more," she said, taking a sip, then handing the canteen to Bozer.

It was nearly empty. He finished it, then tossed it aside near their would-be camp. Who needed the extra weight?

"Let's roll," Bozer said, gripping the sled.

They moved forward, Riley pausing occasionally as her leg cramped up, but pushing on through the underbrush, around boulders, through two shallow creek beds. As they moved, Bozer heard Mac mumbling half-coherent sentences, as though he were arguing with someone, but they were only hearing half the conversation.

It didn't take a Mac-level genius to know who he thought he was talking to.

Since the day he'd returned home from Afghanistan, Mac's balance had been found in Jack. Bozer may have spent his childhood with the guy, may have known the day he went from _Angus_ to _Mac_, may have gotten into and out of more trouble than any teenager had a right to with him, but Jack was his brother.

His true north.

And when he was hurting, he needed the guy. It was as simple as that.

When Freddy's cabin came in view, they instinctively sped up, calling out for Freddy's help. To his credit, the old guy came out in a hurry, bringing with him a bottle of water and a phone. The water helped revive Mac considerably and as Bozer dialed Matty's number, he was relieved to hear Mac speak coherently to Freddy about what had happened.

So focused was he on getting Mac a medevac, Bozer didn't even think to ask Matty to put Jack on the phone. As they waited for a transport, Freddy helped Riley change out Mac's bandage, disposing of the soiled coat sleeve and using thick gauze pads and an Ace bandage. Mac lay still, eyes closed, breathing carefully through the pain.

Bozer offered him more water.

"Hey, you want me to call Jack?" Bozer asked.

For a split second, the _need_ on Mac's face was so raw it sliced into Bozer's heart. But then, Mac shook his head, his pale lips pressed tight as if warding off nausea. That surprised Bozer.

_Tell Jack_, he'd said. Insisted. Tell him _what_, exactly?

"You sure? He's gotta be wondering what the hell, man," Bozer pulled out Freddy's phone.

"'s okay," Mac slurred. "Nothin' he can do. Would just worry him."

"I think hearing your voice would help fix that," Bozer suggested, frowning at the muscle jumping along Mac's jaw. "You know he hated not being on this thing with us."

Mac looked at him then, his blue eyes bleary with pain. "It'll just make it worse," he said. "He'll…hear it."

"Hear that you're in pain, you mean?" Bozer clarified.

"Yeah," Mac closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. "Don't wanna do that to him."

Bozer frowned. He didn't want to worry Jack either—put the older man's helicopter parent instincts on overdrive—but it was clear to anyone looking at his friend that just hearing Jack's voice would go a long way to calming Mac, settling him for the long trip back to civilization and actual medical attention.

"I doubt you remember this, man," Bozer said softly, shifting his weight to one hip and staring hard at Mac's pale face, "but back there in the woods, you wanted us to tell him something."

Mac blinked at him, a frown bowing the edges of his mouth. He shook his head. "Probably the shock talking," he muttered.

"I don't think so, Mac," Bozer shook his head. "When that bastard stabbed me back in the lab that one time, the one person I wanted to see, more than anyone, was my dad." He looked up at Mac and saw the struggle in his friend's eyes. "I knew you had me, you wouldn't let anything happen to me, but…I really only wanted to see him."

Mac closed his eyes and a line dug deep between his eyebrows. A sound that seemed to be half sob, half whimper slipped from his lips. Bozer winced; if heartbreak had a sound, that would be it.

"And I know it's not the same for you—with your dad, I mean," Bozer continued. "But you've got Jack."

"'s different," Mac ground out, eyes still closed. His lips barely moved as he continued. "I left him, man. I bailed and I can't…I can't…_need_ him all the time. 's not fair…to him."

"Aw, Mac," Bozer sighed, feeling as though someone had punched him in the heart. He was about to push the issue once again when Mac's rough voice cut in once more.

"I got this. I can do this."

"I know you do, man," Bozer sighed, resting a hand gently on Mac's head.

But he couldn't help remembering the ragged sound of Mac calling for Jack in the woods, the way his mind fastened on that presence when he was hurting, lost, confused.

"I got this," Mac whispered, as though to convince himself.

Bozer took his unburned hand, thumb to thumb as before, and rested the back of his hand against Mac's chest. He closed his fingers tight, feeling Mac grip back. Sometimes the hardest thing for the strongest among them to do was ask for help.

So, Bozer wouldn't make him.

He texted Jack details with his free hand, making sure the other man would be present when their medevac landed. Mac may not want to ask his partner for help when he was so far away, but Bozer was going to make damn sure he was able to accept it when Jack was by his side.


	3. James—Father Bride Betrayal

**3: James**

_3x14—Father + Bride + Betrayal_

The logical part of James MacGyver knew he didn't have a right to feel relief at this turn of events.

Losing Dalton to an open-ended assignment with the Army was not in the Phoenix Foundation's best interest. He was down a good operative—one who had, admittedly, kept his son alive for several years. And his team would have to break in a recruit to act as Overwatch.

However, finding and ending Tiberius Kovac's reign of terror ultimately helped everyone—and the Phoenix would come off in good standing, not to mention being owed a favor, if his agent was one of the men responsible. Therefore, any inconvenience caused by Dalton's departure was statistically worth the sacrifice.

James was evolved enough to silently acknowledge professional inconvenience wasn't the reason he was in his office, observing the private feed from the War Room as the team learned of Dalton's departure. Well, most of them at any case. It was clear that his son had known before Matty informed the rest of the team.

Angus had gone a dangerous kind of still, a careful blankness to his features hiding his real emotion.

His son wouldn't remember this, but his mother had that same habit when she was facing something unpleasant. As if she were consciously erecting walls around her heart and shoring up her nervous system in order to weather the emotional storm headed her way.

She'd done that when her mother had died, when they received the diagnosis of her cancer, and when they knew she wasn't going to survive. James had observed his son's skills as an internal architect grow over the years.

He narrowed the camera view to Angus' face, pressing his lips tight as he saw the truth hidden in his son's eyes that his walls couldn't shield.

Angus was afraid.

And that made James angry.

He allowed a shallow flair of the relief he'd been tamping own to surge inside him—finally, he'd see what Angus was capable of without his watchdog and bodyguard as a constant safety net. Finally, he'd be able to connect with his son without the looming presence of the man who'd all-but replaced him.

Finally, he'd get the chance to atone for a fifteen-year mistake.

But he couldn't do _any_ of those things if Angus was afraid to be without Jack. He watched the emotions play over the faces of the others in the room and waited, knowing that his moment would come.

He was nothing if not a patient man.

When Jack walked into the room—dressed in his Army green and looking foreign and imposing and not at all like their irreverent, incorruptible friend—James sat forward, his eyes on his son. Angus seemed to cease all movement—even the flex of his shoulders as he breathed was undetectable. It was as though the very air around him had frozen for a moment.

"Plane's, uh, wheels up…in twenty," Dalton was saying, setting his duffel down outside the doorway. He glanced around the room at the stricken expressions. "I just wanted to come by and say goodbye to everybody."

Dalton turned to Angus' childhood friend, Wilt Bozer—who'd turned out to be quite a skilled operative, despite James' reticence. He owed Matty for that one. Not that he'd ever admit it to her.

"Give me some, Boze," Dalton opened his arms, waiting a beat for Bozer to shake himself and step into the embrace.

As they parted, Bozer entreated, "You be careful out there, Jack."

"I will," Dalton smiled, and damn if it didn't look genuine. "You're a good man. And, hey, do me a favor and, you know, keep track of my Bruce Willis collection…for me, will you?"

James rolled his eyes. This man and his obsession with Bruce Willis. That would _not_ be missed.

"I mean," Bozer shrugged. "Of course, but you know those old VHS tapes aren't worth anything."

"They mean a lot to me," Dalton confessed, and suddenly James felt an unexpected tug on his heart. He made his living by reading people, and he was ashamed to admit how long it took him to realize that Dalton wasn't talking about the damn tapes.

But Bozer caught on. "Now that I think on it, they're probably collector's items. I'll be sure to keep an eye on them."

Dalton smiled at him again, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Thanks, man."

He turned from Bozer, pausing for a moment as he caught Matty's eye. James knew the history these two shared. It had been one of the reasons he approved Matty's recommendation for Dalton to be Angus' Overwatch in Afghanistan.

"You come back to us, Jack," Matty said, lifting her chin and somehow managing to look imposing and sad at once. "That's an order."

"Yes, ma'am," Dalton smiled, then he drew in a breath, as though bracing himself, and turned to face Agent Davis. "Ri—"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Davis replied, and James narrowed his eyes at the sound of her tears.

He hadn't anticipated how hard Dalton's departure would be for the young woman, but again…he should have. Dalton had practically been her father when she was much younger; having that stability removed makes an impact on a child.

Or so he'd been told.

"I'm sorry," Dalton confessed. "I didn't want you to worry." He stepped forward, gently cradling her shoulders in his large hands. "But if something should happen to me, I want you to know that I love you, honey." James frowned as Dalton's voice broke. "I love…I love you so much, and I'm so proud of the woman you've become."

Dalton glanced over his shoulder, looking directly at Angus, and drawing the first genuine smile since Angus had walked into the room, carrying the weight of the world with him.

"I mean, pretty impressive, yeah?"

Angus nodded in agreement.

"You and me," Davis said, sniffing as she worked to control her emotions. "Pizza, skee-ball, when you get back, okay?"

"Yeah," Dalton pulled her close for a hug. "I promise."

As Dalton released her, James drew in a breath, ignoring the fact that Dalton did the same as he turned to face Angus.

As though the air around them held weight, Angus shifted his shoulders to bear it, dropping his chin and meeting his partner's eyes.

"Look, I know, uh…it's my turn, but I don't really have a speech prepared," Angus confessed, and James imagined he could see great fissures in the walls around him.

"Why don't you just promise me that you'll stay here at the Phoenix, saving the world one mission at a time, how about that?" Dalton offered the vocal escape, seemingly knowing how hard an emotional parting in front of their friends would be for his partner.

"That I can do," Angus nodded, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth overshadowed by the sorrow in his blue eyes.

James ran a hand over his mouth; Angus' mother had had that same expression. The same way of holding her mouth, the same soft sadness in her eyes.

Good Lord, this kid had no idea how much of her he had in him, especially in moments like this when empathy and emotion held sway and no amount of logic or reason would change their circumstances.

Dalton held out a hand and Angus took it, staring at him with bravery stitched into every tense line of his body and grief in his eyes.

"I'll see you on the other side, I guess," Dalton said.

"Yeah," Angus nodded.

It seemed that Dalton couldn't let go—and James was surprised the other man didn't pull his son in for a hug, as tactile as he was. But there seemed to be a delicate balance at work—as though one step too far in either direction and Dalton wouldn't leave…or Angus would.

"I'm, uh…I'm sorry I gotta leave like this—"

"Okay, look," Angus broke in, releasing Dalton's hand and squaring his shoulders. His voice grew in strength as he went on. "You're hunting down a man who's hurt thousands of innocent people and plans on doing it to more, so you wouldn't really be yourself if you didn't."

James blinked. That was well done. And it was enough to shore up Dalton and help him do what he needed to: walk away.

"You just keep thinkin', Butch," Dalton said, a watery smile folding the edges of his eyes. "That's what you're good at."

Angus smiled at him and the team watched silently as Dalton moved to the door, collected his bag, and saluted them. Angus' arm twitched, James saw, but he held himself still. He was no longer in the Army, no longer a soldier, and now…no longer Dalton's brother-in-arms.

James watched as the team stood silently for several heartbeats, then Matty suggested they go for a drink. Bozer and Davis nodded and wrapped their arms around each other as they walked from the room. Matty looked over at Angus and James knew she saw what he did: if Angus moved from that spot, his reserves would crumble, and he didn't want anyone to see that.

"Jack wanted me to give you this," Matty said, walking up to Angus and handing him a business card. James frowned; he wasn't sure what she was doing, and he thought they'd cleared everything before this little interlude. "You're the only one who has it."

"What is it?" Angus asked, his voice low, rough.

"It's an emergency number," Matty revealed. "It will get through to him no matter where he is or what he's doing. You use it…when you need him."

James narrowed his eyes. Dalton leaving was supposed to remove the safety net, not simply change its size. He didn't like this one bit.

Angus took the card and ran his thumb over the surface. "I can't do that, Matty."

James allowed himself a reflexive smile. Perhaps he'd had more of an influence on his son in the last few months than he'd realized.

"Yes, you can," Matty corrected.

Angus twisted his neck slightly, as if unconsciously warding off a blow, his eyes pinned to the card. "When I left before…I didn't give Jack any way to find me," he said softly. "I didn't give him anything at all. He put his life on the line for me. Over and over. He…he kept me alive, Matty. So many times. And I…I just walked away."

James frowned at the rawness he heard in his son's voice.

Mac huffed slightly, his tone pitching lower. "Guess I learned more from my dad than I realized."

That hurt. It was only his years of discipline and training the kept James from flinching at that statement, but he had to admit, it hurt.

"Jack isn't your dad, Mac," Matty reminded him—rather needlessly, James thought.

"See, that's just it," Angus sighed, still looking at the card as if it held the cues for his next words. "I kinda…put him in that role. A long time ago. Without meaning to. And then…I quit on him."

"He didn't see it that way," Matty said quietly. "He still watched over you, even when you were gone."

Angus nodded, the set of his shoulders—his entire physical bearing—so tense James was afraid the motion might break him. "Which is why I can't use this. It wouldn't be fair."

"I don't understand—"

Angus sniffed; his posture having hidden the tears that were now evident to anyone listening. "How can I need him…when I wasn't there? I can't do that to him—I gotta be able to…to handle this on my own."

"Handle what, Mac?"

At that, Angus looked up and the expression on his face as he regarded his boss was like seeing something precious shatter. James felt his lips curl with emotion. It hurt to look at him—to see in his son's blue eyes, in his son's expression, the same pain and love and loss and anguish he'd once seen in the boy's mother.

James closed his eyes, listening.

"Life," Angus said, the word breaking like water on rock.

Matty, to her credit, was quiet the exact right amount of time for Angus to steady his breathing and James to open his eyes.

"This card comes with no obligation or expectations," she said. "It's from your partner, your friend, your Overwatch. And if you ever need him as any of those things, you call that number and he'll be there." She put her hand on Angus' wrist, smiling softly as the young man looked back down at the card. "He isn't leaving _you_, Mac. And he wanted you to understand that."

Angus nodded stiffly, and Matty removed her hand.

"You take your time," Matty said. "Join us if you want."

Angus nodded again, still looking at the card. Matty moved to the door, then stopped and James drew his head back in surprise when she looked directly at his hidden camera. He saw her pull out her phone and text something with one thumb. His phone vibrated loudly on his desk.

_He needs you._

He frowned, texting back. _He's fine. He just needs to adjust._

_His balance is gone._

James shook his head. _He needs to learn how to be his own balance._

Matty looked at Angus, then back up at the camera. _If you don't see this for what it is, then you're a fool_.

"See you later, Mac," Matty said, then left the room.

Angus looked up a minute too late. "Yeah, see…see ya."

He looked back down at the card in his hand, then took a few staggering steps toward the couch before sinking down. As James watched, his son leaned forward, elbows on knees, and held the card before him like it was made of blown glass. One hand pushed trembling fingers through his hair and James narrowed the camera's focus on his son's face.

With a shaking exhale, Angus leaned back against the couch and James was shocked to see twin tear tracks skimming down to his son's jawline. He didn't make a sound, he just pressed the card to his chest, dropping his free arm over his eyes. After a moment, he pulled in a slow breath, sat forward, then dragged his hand down his face, banishing the tears.

Standing, he slid the card into his pocket as though tucking away a diamond. Lacing his fingers behind his neck, he hung his head back and sighed.

"Jack, you've got vision and the rest of the world wears bifocals," he quoted out loud to the quiet room.

James started out a surprised laugh at the quote. He didn't even know his son had seen _Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid_. Though, with Dalton's parting line….

"That's what I should have said," Angus continued, half laughing. "Next time."

He headed to the door and hit the lights, his eyes trailing up toward the hidden camera, though there was no way he could know it existed.

"Next time," he repeated, exiting.

James watched the empty room for several minutes.

Angus simply needed to adjust. That was all. He'd spent eight years with an over-protective partner who'd conditioned him that whenever he reached out, a hand would reach back. There was nothing wrong with Angus learning how to hold himself up.

Nothing at all.

After all, he'd done it for years before he met Dalton.

He'd be fine.

He'd be just fine.


	4. Matty—Lidar Rogues Duty

**4: Matty**

_3x16—Lidar + Rogues + Duty_

In the weeks since Jack had left and Desi had joined them, Matty hadn't allowed herself to wish for alternatives.

She was a pragmatic woman who had both seen and been responsible for life and death. She had saved and she had destroyed, and she had done it all with a clear conscience—for the greater good, for the sake of the country, for the safety of her team. She knew the risks and she moved forward with each choice ready to absorb the consequences.

But there was something about Angus MacGyver that made her hesitate.

From the time she'd been assigned to observe his father—and therefore him, as a twelve-year-old—she had known he would throw her carefully constructed reality askew. She read people for a living, knowing exactly when to push forward and when to pull back. She had been trained to look at the way a person took their coffee and know exactly how to break them.

But with Mac, observing him and claiming to know him was the same as looking through a keyhole and claiming to see the whole room.

The only person who had been able to see beneath the young man's layers was Jack Dalton. And when Matty got the call about Commander Robert Reese being considered KIA in southwestern Azerbaijan, she had never wanted Dalton standing in front of her more than she did in that moment.

She texted Mac with a pounding heart; this was going to shake him to his core, and right now he was rudderless. Desi was good, but she wasn't Jack. She hadn't balanced Mac and pulled him from war and pain and nightmares. She wasn't the father figure he'd craved for years and was only now getting in pieces. Mac was going to need his _partner_ on this…and that was the one thing he couldn't have.

The minute he walked into the War Room she knew he was bracing himself for the worst. For news about Jack. About his father. Something.

She could see it shimmering in the air around him, in the careful way he stood in front of her, holding himself utterly still.

"Everything okay?"

Matty took a breath. "Mac, I think you should sit down."

She waited as he sank slowly to perch on the arm of a leather chair, tension in every line of his bearing. For a moment, she wondered if James were watching this exchange as he had so many others.

_Let him watch_, she thought rebelliously. Maybe he'd learn something. Maybe even man-up and be present when his son needed grounding, as he was about to.

"I received word that Lieutenant Commander Robert Reese was flying a covert op over southwestern Azerbaijan. It was the first operational use of the LIDAR ground mapping system you engineered."

Predictably, Mac's throat bobbed as he drew conclusions more rapidly than she was able to net out facts.

"Something happen?" he asked, his voice carefully level.

"Thirty-five minutes ago, his jet suffered a total systems failure and crashed." She tensed as she watched the blood drain from his face. _Dammit, Jack…he needs you right now_. "There is no indication that Reese ejected, Mac. He's presumed KIA."

"Reese is…dead?"

Years stripped away from him with that question and Matty found herself not standing in front of a seasoned agent, but a twenty-six-year-old kid staring at her with stricken eyes.

"I wanted you to hear this news from me," she told him, taking a step forward. "I'm so sorry, Mac. I know you and the Reese family are close."

His blue eyes darted in thought, seeking reason and logic. "Do we know what caused the…malfunction…that brought the jet down?"

"We don't know much right now," Matty confessed, bracing herself for this next part. "But we do know that the cascade of failures began shortly after Commander Reese switched on the LIDAR."

Mac seemed to sink into himself at those words. "This is my fault?"

"No," Matty stated, definitively. "No, and you can't start blaming yourself."

Mac looked away, a muscle along his jaw coiling as he fought for control. She knew exactly how he was feeling in that moment—he wanted to hit something, to scream, to rage, to blow hole in the world because his friend was gone and there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

In that moment, she could so easily visualize Jack getting into his space, using his low voice and his commanding presence to pull Mac's eyes front, telling him to take a breath, to work the problem, that he wasn't alone in this. But Jack wasn't there, and Reese was gone and Mac was swimming in guilt without someone to pull him back to shore.

This kind of loss was so wrapped in edges it cut with its very existence.

"Who's leading the recovery?" he asked, finally looking back at her, his voice rough.

"This mission was top secret," Matty revealed. Mac stood up, shoving his hands through his hair. He knew what that meant, but she continued, "Once the Azerbaijani government realizes we violated their airspace, things are going to get very complicated very quickly."

Mac dropped his hands to his waist, his back to her. "So, no one."

"No," Matty confessed. "Not yet."

He whirled to face her "Matty, I need to recover his body," he declared, his voice breaking over the last word. "His family deserves closure…but…," he shook his head, dragging a hand down his face, "Reese deserves to be buried in Arlington, not 6,000 miles away in a foreign country."

"I agree with you, Mac," Matty said patiently, careful to keep her voice even, "but I have no authority—"

Mac waved a hand toward the window, his blue eyes bright with indignation. "We don't leave our own behind!"

"—which is why I have the Phoenix jet is fueled and waiting," she finished, watching as realization and relief washed over him, bringing some color back to his face.

"Thank you, Matty," he breathed, closing his eyes briefly. "I can't…." He didn't finish the sentence, and she didn't push. "Thank you."

"Take Desi; bring your friend home."

She saw a flash of something in his eyes when she mentioned their newest agent. In that heartbeat, she realized that he'd forgotten he wouldn't have Jack by his side. It was like watching sunlight fade, his eyes dimming, his chin coming up.

"Desi," he muttered quietly.

Matty stared at him for a breath. This was going to be a tough one for him. Maybe…. "Don't forget. You have that card."

Mac frowned and she watched as he visibly struggled to resist the knee-jerk reaction to turn to Jack for reassurance, for balance. He drew a shaky breath.

"I got this, Matty."

"I expect a full report," she instructed, and he nodded, heading for the door, his eyes already several lightyears away.

As Mac went to grab Desi and get to the tarmac, Matty called her newest agent.

"_What's up, Boss?" _

"You're going on mission with Mac," Matty informed her. "He's on his way to get you now."

"_Okay,"_ Desi drew out the word like stretched taffy. _"Any intel for me?"_

"He'll catch you up in-flight," Matty informed her, "but I need you to handle this one carefully."

She paused before handing out the next bit of detail. She trusted Jack's choice in Desi as a savvy agent and capable Overwatch. It was her skill at protecting the fragility of Mac's heart she wasn't so sure about.

"_Carefully…how?"_

"Mac lost a friend," Matty revealed without preamble, "and he thinks it's his fault."

Desi paused. _"And is it?"_

Matty narrowed her eyes. "No. And you need to keep him on mission. Not let him get lost in his head."

"_Lost in his head,"_ Desi repeated.

Matty sighed. She would never admit it, but sometimes she really missed Jack Dalton.

"Yes. And I expect full reports, as often as you are able to get information out."

Desi paused and Matty heard a rustling that sounded like a hand cupped over the mouthpiece of the phone. _"Should MacGyver even be going on this mission?"_

It was a fair question from a seasoned agent, but it pissed Matty off. Not only did it call Mac's capability to cope into question, it cast a shadow of doubt on Matty's knowledge of what her agents were able to handle.

"You have your orders," Matty snapped, disconnecting the call.

She glanced up to where she knew James' hidden camera was tucked away and scowled. If he was watching, she wanted him to know her displeasure. If he wasn't, well…scowling felt good right now. She was worried. And she hadn't been worried in a long time—not like this.

Mac wasn't like other agents, not for Matty. She'd allowed herself to grow too close to him, had watched him too carefully over the last fourteen years…and she still didn't have him figured out. That wasn't like her.

But it hadn't mattered before, because he'd always had Jack. The man was a legitimate pain in her ass, but he cared about Mac in a way that had always assured her as long as he was around, nothing bad was going to happen to the kid.

"Dammit, Jack," Matty exhaled.

How was it she was living in a reality where the fact that Jack Dalton was not on her team meant her axis was tipping?

Moving to her desk—and into the blind spot of James' Big Brother spy camera—Matty pulled out her personal phone. One that Riley had blocked from the Phoenix tracking system but encrypted so that it was nearly impossible to hack.

A girl had to have some secrets.

_[Dalton, respond ASAP.]_ She took a breath, then continued her text_. [He needs you.]_

She mentally calculated the time difference between Los Angeles and where she suspected Jack was; it would be near midnight for him. She set her phone down and began to go through the casefiles for three other agents currently in the field, needing the distraction. When her phone vibrated against her desk roughly fifteen minutes later, she startled.

_[Talk to me, Goose.]_

She couldn't help the quirk of amusement that danced across her lips. She missed the idiot.

_[Reese potentially KIA. Jet went down. Mac blaming himself. Searching for body.]_

She waited, watching her screen.

_[Alone?]_

_[With Overwatch,] _she typed.

There was a significant pause and Matty's mind raced.

_[You gave him the card?]_

_[Affirmative.]_

Another pause, this time longer. Matty's thumb hovered over the keypad, trying to anticipate Jack's next response.

_[You gotta trust him.]_

She blinked. That was not what she'd been expecting. Where was the helicopter parent, the worried partner, the frenetic energy that followed Jack around like an aura where Mac was concerned?

_[He needs to do this—to know for sure.]_

_[He's already climbing inside his head,]_ she argued.

_[He'll climb back out when he has all the facts. Trust him.]_

Matty frowned, eyes on the last two words. It wasn't as if she didn't trust Mac—she was just focused on her agent's state of mind. Wasn't she?

_[Get him home, then check on him. That's when you worry.]_

_[And if he gets himself killed?]_ She knew it wasn't fair. But she wanted to see if pushing the same buttons worked in this new world of theirs.

_[He won't. He has his Overwatch.]_

"But Desi isn't you, Jack," Matty whispered.

_[She's got this.]_

Matty closed her eyes. It was as if he were in her head. That was just downright spooky.

_[Trust him, Boss Lady. He won't let you down.]_

"That was never a possibility," she muttered, eyes narrowed at her screen.

_[Now you gotta return the favor—don't let him down.]_

Well, now that was just mean.

_[Let me know when he's back at the ranch.]_

_[Roger that,]_ Matty replied, then turned her phone face-down on the desk. She sat still for several minutes, waiting to see if there would be more from Jack. When her phone remained silent, she sat back, thinking.

Trust him.

There was no agent on her team she trusted more. But there were things Jack didn't really understand. Things only she was privy to due to her status and access to case files. Things like Mac's near breakdown after finally defeating The Ghost. Things like his frantic, shock-induced mutterings after being shot in the leg.

She pulled up Bozer's debrief from the survival training, scrolling through the verbatim transcript until she came to the part that had caught her attention.

"…_he wasn't making much sense—he'd been roughed up, shot, and we had no idea last time he'd had anything to eat or drink by the time we found him—but he was calling for Jack. Kept asking us to tell him something."_

"_Tell Jack something?"_ This from the interviewer—a junior-level agent, working her way up to Jill's old position.

"_Yeah,"_ Bozer had continued. _"He was pretty insistent, but we could never get him to tell us what it was. And then when he stabilized, he shrugged it off like it was just the shock talking. No big thing."_

"_Maybe it was."_

There was a pause in the transcript and Matty could practically see Bozer tilting his head as he considered all possibilities.

"_Yeah, thing is…I don't think it was. Not really. The pain and all that might've been the reason he let down his guard to say it, but I think there's something there. Something he doesn't want to look at too closely. Won't let himself admit."_

"_Something we need to document you think?"_

"_Ah, no. No. Definitely not. Just chalk it up to best friend musings. Anyway, so we get to the cabin…."_

Matty moved through the rest of her morning with those thoughts in the background, wondering if she were missing something vital from her agent. When she got the word from Mac and Desi that they'd found Reese—_alive_—she found her concern decreasing only by a fraction. Focusing on the chemical weapons and the rogue CIA agents in Azerbaijan was a good enough distraction she wasn't haunted by Jack's words.

Much.

When Desi alerted her to the fact that they needed exfil, Matty reached out to Reese's family and was relieved to share the good news. It was gratifying to see a positive end to what could have been such a different mission.

Upon their return, Mac spent time with Reese and his family in one of the guest lounges, and Matty pulled Desi aside.

"We doing the debrief in the War Room?" Desi asked as Matty frosted the windows.

"Call it pre-debrief," Matty replied, turning to face her new agent. "I'd like your assessment of MacGyver on this op—up to and including finding Reese alive."

Desi brought her chin up and Matty schooled her features, emptying her expression of any emotion the savvy agent could use to adjust her report in any way.

"Off the record?" Desi asked carefully.

"If you'd like for it to be," Matty nodded. That was interesting.

Desi turned away from Matty, sliding her fingers into her back pockets and arching her neck slightly to relieve some tension. Matty recognized the signs of someone buying time to look for the right words. She waited the younger woman out.

"Agent MacGyver is one of the most intelligent operatives I have ever worked with," Desi began. "On the way to the crash site," she half-turned and regarded Matty with an _I shit you not_ expression, "the guy was doing electrical engineering calculations _in his head_, to try to figure out what had gone wrong with Reese's plane."

Matty simply blinked at her. That came as zero surprise to her—the kid was a bona fide genius. She'd be more worried if he hadn't been trying to determine the cause of the crash.

"There _were_ a few moments where he…," Desi paused, narrowing her eyes and rotating back to face Matty as she crossed her arms over her chest, "how did you put it? Got lost in his head."

"Was he ever…emotionally compromised?" Matty asked.

Desi arched a brow. "You mean, did he ever pull a Spock?"

_Oh God_, Matty sighed to herself. _It's contagious._

"Does every Overwatch have to speak in pop-culture references?" Matty returned.

"MacGyver was completely in control of his environment the whole time," Desi replied. "He saved us—a few times, in a few really…bizarre ways. But whatever he was feeling, he compartmentalized like a pro."

"At any time did you feel you were going to have to put yourself in unnecessary danger to keep him safe?" Matty asked, hating herself as she did so.

Desi shook her head. "No, ma'am." She tilted her head. "But I do see what Jack meant when he prepped me to be Mac's Overwatch."

Matty frowned. "Meant by what?"

Desi half-smiled, her gaze sliding a bit to the middle distance. "He said, the kid's too smart for the rest of us," her Jack impression came off a bit like Foghorn Leghorn, but Matty appreciated the effort, "and that's the problem."

"He elaborate on that at all?"

Desi shrugged. "He said Mac never really got a chance to be a kid because he was so smart, so sometimes the world catches him by surprise. Everybody always expects him to figure a way out of the impossible, so asking for help just isn't natural for him. He doesn't know how to feel comfortable needing someone."

Matty frowned, nodding slowly as realization dawned. Jack's helicopter parenting style of Overwatch wasn't because of _Jack_…it was because of _Mac_. Jack had seen early on, in the crucible that was Afghanistan, that Mac would never ask for help—that he didn't know _how_. He knew the kid hadn't been coached in how to reach out, so he reached for Mac instead.

All the time, every day. Until Mac trusted that when he needed something, Jack would simply be there. Watching, knowing.

And when James broke Mac's heart for the second time, and Mac walked away as his father had taught him, he believed he broke that connection Jack had so carefully created. He refused to reach out because he'd knowingly turned away the helping hand by leaving it behind.

He couldn't imagine a reality where that hand would always be there.

"Anything else, Boss?" Desi asked, jarring Matty from her thoughts.

"No, that's all," Matty said, offering Desi a small smile. "You can schedule your official debrief as per usual."

Desi nodded, but paused at the doorway before turning the handle.

"You're right to keep an eye on him, though," she said, her voice pitched toward the door.

"What do you mean?" Matty asked, eyebrows folded close.

Desi glanced over her shoulder. "He's a genius, sure," she said, lifting a shoulder, "but he's dangerous."

"I thought you said—"

"Not to me," Desi broke in. "Or his team, or anyone he's working to save. To himself. He puts himself last on the list of People Who Can't Die." She narrowed her eyes, looking toward the ground. "I think Jack knew that from the jump, so he made sure there was always some kind of…human safety net in place."

Matty regarded the new agent carefully. "And how do you feel about that?"

Desi shrugged, turning the handle. "My grandfather always said I was good with nets."

She left the room and Matty exhaled slowly. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she saw that it was Mac. He was walking Reese and his family from the building and would be back in to debrief. She texted him back with approval and moved to her desk. Pocketing her work phone and picking up her personal one, she turned it over to see a text waiting from Jack.

_[Sitrep?]_

She texted, [_He's home. Reese not KIA.]_

_[Check on him tonight.]_

She frowned. _[He's fine. Everyone is alive.]_

_[Check on him.]_

She frowned. _[What happened to trusting him?]_

_[You did that, now trust me.]_

Rolling her eyes, Matty set her phone down. This was ridiculous. She didn't get to this position by not trusting her gut—and her gut said that Mac was home, Reese was alive, mission was successful.

_[Acknowledge.]_

Her eyes darted to her phone, and she narrowed her gaze on the seemingly innocuous word. Damn him anyway. "Acknowledge, my ass."

_[Matilda.]_

_[Matty.]_

_[Matty.]_

_[MATTY.]_

"Oh, for God's sake!" She exclaimed. _[What?!]_

_[I'll make a bet with you. If I'm right, one of you takes beers to his house and talks to him until he's practically asleep on his feet.] _

_[And if you're wrong?]_ Matty arched an eyebrow at her phone.

_[You get to hold it over me.]_

Matty shook her head. _[Fine.]_

_[Ask Ms Overwatch if he was working out the reason for the crash in his head on mission.]_

Matty stared at the screen for almost a full minute.

_[What does that prove?] _She challenged.

She could practically see the soft look in Jack's eyes, and the way his mouth pulled up at the side just so when he was talking 'his boy' down.

_[In his head, no KIA doesn't = no fault. He needs a reason.]_

"And he won't rest until he has it," she said out loud. "Literally." She closed her eyes with a sigh. After a moment, her phone buzzed once more.

_[Anything but Heineken.]_

"Smart ass," she smirked before setting her personal phone down and retrieving her work phone.

After spending a day with Sparky 'processing' a riddle, Riley and Bozer could probably both use a bit of deck time. She sent them a strong suggestion for how they should spend their evening, knowing both would pick up the unspoken need easily enough.

Mac may not know how to reach out for help, but his partner never stopped reaching back.

One day, she hoped the young agent would realize that.


	5. Desi—No-Go High-Voltage Rescue

**5: Desi**

_3x20—No-Go + High-Voltage + Rescue_

There were very few things Desiree Nguyen was willing to admit she couldn't do. As one of the first women to graduate from US Army Ranger School—and after hanging in with a special ops team that included both bad-ass Delta Force tough guys and CIA spy-types, she liked to think she was capable of any task put in front of her.

Until Jack Dalton called in his chip, and Desi found herself following around a group of millennials on choose-your-own-adventure missions that never ended the way her training predicted they would. It would be eye-rollingly annoying if they weren't all so damn good at what they did.

And she couldn't even mentally mock the team genius for being _just an egghead_ because he had seen more war than she had.

Now, there were any number of things she was discovering she couldn't do…and _very little_ Angus MacGyver couldn't do. The kid—and she only found herself thinking of him as such because of Dalton's conditioning—wasn't just smart. He was resourceful. And compassionate. And way too freaking self-sacrificing.

Her grandfather would say, _Cái khó ló cái khôn_. Adversity was the mother of wisdom.

From what she'd learned of her new partner in the short weeks she'd been part of this team, he had certainly seen his share of adversity.

"And…there it is," Mac sighed, a note of dread in his voice that she hadn't heard back at the half-built skyrise.

The team stopped and stared up at the power lines feeding into the high-voltage electrical tower. Desi wanted to make some smart-ass comment about being _charged up_ for this op. Or _shocked_ that they made it this far. But one glance at Mac's tense expression and she swallowed her words.

There would come a day where she could put her Dalton-esque humor on display. This was not that day.

Bozer muttered, "I already feel too close to this thing."

Desi ignored him, choosing instead to focus on Riley's no-nonsense approach. "Local news says last month an Australian girl was found dead here. Electrocuted. Cops couldn't figure out what she was doing."

Desi shrugged. "Well, I bet you if they looked closer, they would've found a weird photoshopped map in her belongings."

"Okay," Bozer chimed in. "She was definitely doing the No-Go Challenge. Question is, are Ben's parents right and he and Isabel started here?"

"I don't see any security cameras," Riley observed.

Desi was looking up at the top of the tower. "The No-Go rules say to sign your name at each stop. If they were here, their names are up there." She glanced back at the trio behind her. "Let's go up." Riley and Bozer looked over at Mac—who had been noticeably silent during this entire exchange—with worry in their eyes. "What's the problem?"

Mac looked down. "I'm afraid of heights," he admitted quietly, the words pulled reluctantly from his gut.

"Come on," Desi scoffed.

Mac glanced at her with a shrug, embarrassment coloring his cheeks. It was amazing, really. She'd heard Jack recount stories of his partner hanging out of a vehicle going eighty miles an hour to target a vehicle behind them with a bomb he made from…Febreze and Dentyne, for all she knew, and yet he was standing here before her, pale at the idea of climbing the tower.

"Well, the good news is," she continued, giving him a small smile, "if we fall, it'll be the electricity that kills us."

"Ah," he replied with a _not helping_ half-smile.

Before she could say anything further, Mac shrugged out of his backpack and moved carefully into the center of the tower, turning in a slow circle. His face wore an expression she had started to equate with human computing: taking in his environment and landing on a solution none of the others present could conceive. After a moment, he burst into action and Desi found she was largely unable to follow his movements to a logical conclusion.

He was a puzzle. There was something fragile about him, even as he exuded an uncanny sense of confidence. It made her want to trust him, shield him, and follow him all at once.

Dalton had warned her about this.

"_You're gonna want to fall for the kid,"_ he'd said in that damn Texas drawl that made her want to laugh…and punch him in the nose. _"I'm warning you now: don't do it. He needs someone that'll keep him from drowning, keep him present, and keep him alive. He's way too willing to throw himself on the fire just so someone else doesn't burn."_

She'd scoffed at the time, but she was beginning to see what he meant. There was something oddly intoxicating about watching Mac's lithe form move from backpack to electrical box until she could finally recognize what he was building as a safety harness. He handed her one and stepped into the other, showing her how to fasten them.

She took the thick coil of rope from him and looped it over her head and shoulder, figuring that it was going to be enough for him to get to the top.

"Nice work on these safety harnesses," Desi complimented as she moved swiftly up the side of the tower.

"H-how about we not talk and…just climb?" Mac's voice was thin with anxiety.

She glanced down at him and felt a pang of sympathy for the slick sheen of fear she saw on his face. He was moving methodically upward, following her, but with every wrung successfully mastered, he wrapped an arm around the metal support, and she could practically feel the rough hammer of his breath reverberate through the metal they clung to.

"I was just teasing, you know," she offered. "You didn't have to come with me."

She'd been handling things on her own for a long time, after all. In fact, a small part of her wondered if Dalton tagged her as his temporary replacement in part to get her to engage with the world.

And…with actual people.

A small groan of fear punctuated Mac's next words. "Yeah, well…I'm the only one who knows what we can and can't touch up there," he offered, and as she glanced down, she realized he was fighting to open his eyes as he took the next wrung. "Besides…New Year's resolution: exposure therapy."

She grinned, appreciating his attempted humor. "Is it working?"

"I don't know," he groaned. "I haven't looked down yet."

They continued to climb, Desi honoring his request to not talk as the silence seemed to help him find focus. They reached the top and she shifted to the side to offer him space to move in next to her. There was little to no support and as he positioned himself, he stumbled slightly, scrambling for a more-secure grip.

His already-ragged breaths halted completely as his face lost most of its color.

"Just breathe," she soothed, careful not to touch him. "You got this." He didn't look like he believed her. In fact, he looked like he might be sick, so she changed tactics. "Hey, there's something on the discs," she said, looking past him to the insulator stringers connecting the two high-voltage towers. "Could be signatures, but I can't really tell from here."

Mac nodded shakily as he looked in the same direction. "Th-they're insulator stringers," he said, focusing on the mission. "They keep the h-high-voltage wires from touching the tower itself…otherwise…."

"Zip!" she half-grinned, drawing his eyes.

The blue irises were bright, his pupils constricted with anxiety.

"Exactly," he chuckled nervously. "It'll electrify the entire structure we're standing on."

"How about we avoid doing that, then?" Desi suggested with a soft smile.

"G-good idea," Mac stuttered, then started to turn, his foot slipping from the wrung slightly before he anchored himself once more with a slightly terrified groan. "The rope?"

"Oh, yeah," Desi recalled, pulling it from around her head and shoulders.

She watched as Mac fixed one of the heavy locks he'd temporarily misappropriated from the electrical box down below. It was genius, really. Who needed carabiners?

She knew the next step would be to swing the rope up to a higher portion of the tower to help anchor him as he climbed out across the discs, but for a moment he couldn't move. He simply stood, gripping the metal supports, and fought to steady his breathing.

"How would Jack handle this situation?" Desi asked, surprising herself.

"Wh-what?" Mac stuttered, blinking over at her in surprise.

"Well, before I took this job," she informed him, "he spent about three whole days doing nothing but talking about you. Telling me what to watch for, what to do, what _not_ to do."

She shrugged, watching his face, his eyes, taking in the flex of muscle at his jaw, the white-knuckled grip on the support beam. She had to get him thinking about something else or she was going to have a hard time getting him down, let alone finding the information they needed.

"Problem is, he never covered heights, so…I'm a little outta my element here."

Mac huffed out a shaky breath. "Probably because I avoided them at all costs," he mused. "And he'd want to kick my ass for even thinking about making this climb." He paused, taking a steadier breath. "But then he'd say something like, _you don't get to do anything stupid without me_, and he'd be right where you are now."

"And what would he say to get you to climb out onto those disc things?" Desi pushed, relieved to see that this tactic was working.

Mac eased back slightly, looking up at the supports above the discs. "He'd probably start rambling about something inane, like…the many heroics of John McClane," he grunted as he tossed the rope up through the supports, catching it easily and tying a knot in the end before fixing the second lock to the loop. "Or debating the merits of Batman versus Superman."

"You'd ask him to do this?" Desi chuffed, amused.

Mac shook his head. "Naw, he just…did it. I never really had to ask. Jack just…knew."

Desi nodded sagely. It explained a lot about the man she was standing in for, and the man he asked her to protect.

"On belay?" Mac checked.

"Belay on," Desi nodded.

With that, Mac began the slow, almost torturous climb out across the insulator stringers. Whatever calm he'd managed in the moments before talking about Jack evaporated as he made his way to the center. Desi could see the fear in his eyes, the sweat rolling down the sides of his face, the way his lips trembled around each uneven puff of air.

She knew nothing about Batman or Superman. But she knew what it was like to be scared. And she knew what calmed her down.

So, she began to sing. It was a nursery rhyme, just a soft entreaty for safety and sleep, but it—and singing it in her native language—brought her mother back to her. She didn't know about Mac, but it certainly calmed her down.

After a moment, Mac looked over.

"What are you doing?"

She smiled at him, feeling suddenly shy. "My mom used to sing that to me when I was scared," she told him, watching as he continued to move to the center. "I thought that might help."

He pulled the side of his mouth up in a tremulous smile. "Surprisingly enough, it actually does."

"I guess so, you made it," she observed.

Nodding, Mac looked down at the discs and she tightened her grip on the ropes keeping him from plummeting into the electrical charge.

"I…uh, I've got the coordinates for the next No-Go location here, as well as signatures written in marker," he called back to her.

"Do you see Ben and Isabel's?" she asked.

He shook his head, the mission distracting him from his fear once more. "Not yet. I can't really see the other side of these insulators, so let me see if I can get a better look."

The minute he pulled his phone from his pocket, Desi felt her stomach clench. He turned his camera on and leaned forward but was too focused on getting the information and not enough on keeping his balance. He slipped just enough that he tipped dangerously forward, losing his grip on his phone. Unable to grab anything for balance, Mac cried out, his phone snapping against the electrically charged discs in its decent, crashing to the ground.

"Got you!" Desi called, sitting back into the loop of the rope and using her body weight to counterbalance him. "Mac?"

"'m okay," Mac panted, still hanging from the safety harness. "I may ralph, but…I'm okay."

"You see the signatures?" Desi called. They may as well get the information while he was hanging around.

He nodded. "Yeah, I see 'em."

"Need my phone to get a pic of the coordinates?" She offered, trying to figure out how she was going to hold his weight _and_ get the phone to him.

"I got them," he told her.

"You memorized them?" She blinked, surprised. With as panicked as he was, she didn't think he could remember his own name at the moment.

He repeated them back to her.

"Hold on," she entreated, bracing the rope and pulling out her phone. "Do that one more time, just in case."

Voice trembling, Mac complied, his face turning red from his position. She typed the information into her phone, then secured the device once more.

"Okay, let's get you back in," she called, feeling his weight pull on her arms.

"Yeah," he grunted, trying to tip himself back the other way to get traction. "And then I wanna go…anywhere not here."

"Deal," Desi agreed, exhaling with relief as he found a foothold and was able to regain his balance.

It was a shaky trek back toward the tower, but as soon as he reached it, she grabbed his arm and helped pull him back toward her to safety. He stood for several minutes, holding the tresses and simply breathing.

"You're okay," she finally said. "We're almost done, Mac."

"N-not sure I'm gonna be able to, uh…to detach this rope," he tugged on the rope looped over the support beam.

"So, leave it," she said. "It's not hurting anything. Maybe help save the next No-Go Challenge idiot."

Mac nodded stiffly, unhooking the rope from his safety harness, then opened his eyes with effort.

"You want me to go first?" Desi offered.

He nodded again. His breathing was rapid and irregular, and while his eyes were open, they were unfocused, darting around them, his gaze anywhere but down.

"Mac?"

"Having…uh…having a hard time…c-catching my breath," he stammered.

She glanced at his hands where he gripped the metal supports. His knuckles were so white she was slightly worried he was going to break the skin open. She needed to find something for him to focus on.

"Okay, look at me," she ordered, slightly surprised when he obeyed.

His blue eyes were dark with anxiety, wide with fear. She felt her heart slam against her ribs at the thought of the trust he was giving her in this moment. She took a slow, calming breath and watched as he worked to match it.

"This is nothing, okay? You just…you picture each wrung securely beneath your foot. See yourself balanced, strong, steady. Breathe. Slowly, in and out. Just like you're doing now."

He nodded. Words seemed to be beyond him at this point.

"Hard part's over, Mac," she smiled at him. "The rest is cake."

Without waiting to see him nod another time, she began the decent, taking it slow, and alternating finding the next wrung with looking up at his progress. He still gripped the support with one arm, but he seemed to be following her instructions and planting his feet securely as he descended.

"J-jack was always the one up in high places," he said suddenly. It struck her then—they'd talked more about Jack in this last little trek up the tower than they had since she started this job. "Overwatch, and all."

"Vantage point, sure," she agreed, pausing to wait for him to close the gap between them.

"Never seemed to bother him," Mac continued. "So long as he could see me, he was fine."

"That checks out," Desi replied. "He hated having to leave; I practically had to pass a written exam on How To Keep Mac Alive before he handed over the keys."

She heard Mac utter a weak chuckle.

"Have you talked with him since he left?" Desi asked.

"No," Mac confessed, pausing half-way down to catch his breath. "Kinda figured I sh-shouldn't…distract him, y'know?"

"Uh-huh," Desi replied, her tone displaying her doubt loud and clear. "Even though Matty has…and I have…and I'm pretty sure even Riley and Bozer have?"

"'s not the same," Mac muttered, continuing to climb. "It's…he needs to get the job done and come home. Not…not be comfortable…being away."

_That was an interesting way to think about it,_ she mused.

"So, you're punishing him for leaving?" Desi asked.

"No!" Mac protested sharply, looking down at her in surprise and losing his rhythm.

His foot slid from the wrung and for a moment he dangled from his grip until he got his foot back in place, holding tightly to the support beam. Once secure, he simply stood still, trembling and breathing.

"Easy," Desi soothed. "You're okay. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. C'mon, we're almost there."

"N-need a…a minute," Mac gasped.

She couldn't see his face from her angle, but she was pretty sure his eyes were closed. Tightly.

"We've got about thirty more wrungs, Mac," she said. "You can do thirty wrungs. That's nothing. My granddad could do thirty wrungs."

"Y-yeah…," he breathed. "Okay."

"Just count them down," she encouraged. "Smaller the number, closer to the ground."

She let him focus on the count, the rhythm and in minutes they were back on the ground. She stepped back, making room for him, and climbed out of her harness. Mac simply slid to the ground, sitting in a heap, hands pressed flat against the dirt, eyes closed, his breath rapid, thin, shaky.

"Tell me you got it," Bozer pleaded.

"They were here," Desi confirmed, not taking her eyes from Mac's pale face. "He saw their signatures."

"You get the coordinates?" Riley asked. She moved to crouch in front of her friend and partner. "Mac?"

For a long moment, he didn't move—didn't even acknowledge she'd spoken. Desi frowned. If she didn't know better, she'd think this was the beginnings of a panic attack—which could make sense. He was too focused on the mission to lose it this thoroughly before.

It's only after the danger passes that fear sets in.

"Long, slow breaths, Mac," she intoned.

Riley nodded, keeping her eyes on Mac's face, picking up the easy timbre of Desi's coaching. "Remember what Jack always says: in for four, hold for four, out for four."

"Th-that's…n-not Jack, that's—"

He was gasping now, fingers curling into claws, digging small lines in the dust around them.

"C'mon, Mac, you got this," Riley encouraged, carefully resting a hand on his bent knee.

The touch seemed to ground him. His eyes darted to her fingers and he stared at them, his dry lips trembling as he fought to control his breathing. Desi thought about what he'd said up on the tower, frowning as she scrambled for something that would distract him from his panic.

"So, McCain was a Navy man, which means it would have been our duty to mock him as Army, but it's what you do, right? Still, the man was a POW—"

Riley and Bozer were suddenly looking at her with twin expressions of confused disbelief.

"What. The hell. Are you talking about?" Bozer spoke up, his chin jutting forward, hands splayed out to the side.

"Mac said Jack would rattle off facts about John McCain to distract him," Desi explained, eyes darting between the two in confusion.

Mac began to laugh. It was weak, but it was a legitimate laugh. "J-john _McClane_," he managed, pulling in a slower breath. His eyes darted up to Riley. "And it's combat tactical breathing," he huffed, his voice getting stronger as his breaths grew slower.

"Well, Jack was always the one to use it with you," Riley defended.

Mac nodded, closing his eyes. "True."

"Need some water?" she asked, sliding a water bottle into Mac's limp hand before he could answer.

He brought it to his lips, his hand trembling slightly. After a few swallows, he opened his eyes and smiled at Riley, then let his gaze slide across Bozer and Desi.

"I never want to do that again," he confessed, finally sounding more like himself. "Ever. _Ever_ ever."

"Agreed," Riley replied, smiling gently at him. "You did it, though. There and back again."

"You kicked arachnophobia's ass," Bozer grinned.

"Acrophobia," Mac corrected with a tired smile. "Arachnophobia is fear of spiders."

Bozer shuddered. "Yeah, I could do without seeing any of them around here either."

Riley offered Mac a hand and helped him to his feet, holding onto him until he found his balance. "Jack would be proud of you," she said.

He looked surprised at her. "Yeah, maybe."

"She's right," Desi chimed in. "He would. But," she shrugged, "then again…he always is."

Mac blinked at her then and she saw something warm slid behind his eyes. Like he was seeing her for the first time. It made something inside of her…uncoil.

Returning home after completing a mission was always a good feeling. Returning home after _successfully_ completing a mission—and reuniting two families—was a great feeling. Desi was riding high on accomplishment and teamwork. She enjoyed the smiles she saw shared between Mac and his father, suspecting that they weren't often present.

She was glad Mac had someone to greet him when they returned—someone to say they were glad he hadn't been electrocuted or plummeted to his death or been sold in a human trafficking ring. Someone who appreciated what he had to go through to make sure they all returned home in one piece—even himself.

She was glad…but it felt somehow off. Like someone had changed actors half-way through a play. Mac needed his dad in his life, sure. He _wanted _his dad in his life, of course. But there was something hollow about the affection, the relief, the exchange of gratitude.

It was like watching him reach out and grasping at a sketch of a hand instead of the hand itself.

Something told her that being Mac's Overwatch was going to be about more than just covering his six and helping him overcome a debilitating fear. It was going to be about finding ways to connect him back to the one person who never stopped holding out a hand, flesh and blood and strong and real.

And to do that, she was going to have to learn something other than childhood lullabies.

As she made her way to her car once they returned to the Phoenix, she pulled out her phone and dialed the number she'd been made to memorize. When the line connected, she didn't give him a chance to say a word.

"Okay, Dalton," she huffed. "Who the hell is John McClane?"


	6. Mac—Mason Cable Choices

**\+ 1: Mac**

_3x22—Mason + Cable + Choices_

The helicopter shrank from view as Mason pulled away from the roof, taking with him Mac's vengeance, Charlie's retribution, justice for innocence lost. And there wasn't a damn thing Mac could do about it.

He lost.

He rubbed at his chest where the tech had injected him, adrenalin still coursing unchecked through his system. His hands wouldn't stop shaking, but he knew it was a biological after-effect. Once his body burned through the dose, he would be steady.

Back to normal.

If there was such a thing as normal anymore. Charlie was dead. He wasn't just on mission. He wasn't off living his life and would get back to Mac later.

He was _gone_. And Mac had just let his killer escape.

"Mac!" Bozer's voice bounced off the blackened surface of the roof, startling Mac out of his dark thoughts.

"Mason got away," Mac growled as he turned around. He saw Bozer's eyes track to where he pressed a hand against his sore chest, and he dropped it. He didn't sympathy now; he needed action.

"Are you okay?" Bozer asked, jogging up to him.

"I'm fine," Mac started to push past his friend, headed back to the rooftop entrance. Bozer grabbed him by the upper arms, halting his movement. Mac focused on his friend's face, surprised. "Boze?"

"Dude, you just got your ass Pulp-Fictioned by a ginormous needle and then went running all around this damn building. Take a beat," Bozer entreated.

Mac tried to pull away from Bozer's grip but was surprised when his body shuddered instead. "I told you, I'm fine."

"Well, you don't _look_ fine, Mac," Bozer told him, finally dropping his hands. "In fact, you look strung out."

"It's the adrenalin," Mac told him, unable to stop himself from rubbing at his chest once more. He was going to have a nasty bruise there. "It will take a bit to get out of my system."

"Well, how about you go join Desi in the infirmary and let them check you out, then?" Bozer dropped his hands on his hips and tilted his head in a challenge.

That got his attention. He frowned at Bozer. "Why is Desi in the infirmary?"

"She thought she was Captain America—or I guess, Wonder Woman—and got a little bruised up getting your father out of the safe room," Bozer said, rotating on his heel as Mac started to move at a more sedate pace toward the rooftop entrance. "She's okay," he hastened to add.

"Anyone else hurt?" Mac asked as they reached the door. He let Bozer pull it open, his chest muscles sorer than he'd realized.

"Looks like you got the worst of it this time," Bozer said, following him down the stairs. "But since he _was_ pissed at your father…."

"Yeah, lucky me," Mac grumbled.

He followed Bozer to the infirmary but found it empty when he arrived. A small part of him wondered if Desi had really been there or if Bozer had just used that ploy to get him off the roof. He let the nurse check him out—and he was right, there was a big-assed bruise in the middle of his chest—while Bozer hung out.

"You don't have to wait for me," Mac told him, pulling his t-shirt back on.

"No one likes to be in here by themselves," Bozer shrugged. "Besides, it's what Jack would do, so…."

"Jack's not here," Mac pointed out, needlessly, feeling the same ache spike in his heart as it did every time the man's name was brought up.

"That's…kinda the point, Mac."

He glanced at Bozer, noting the seriousness in his friend's tone. He knew they all wondered—though they didn't ask—why he rarely talked about Jack. If he could have explained that it was for the same reason he wouldn't talk about Charlie—that they meant too much to him, that saying their _name_ brought up memories of times past that were like shards of glass in his heart—then they might get it.

But for all his intelligence, he wasn't great at emotion.

When he received the all-clear from the nurse, with advice to take it easy the next few days, Mac nodded his thanks and slid off the exam table, buttoning his shirt. He took his jacket from Bozer's outstretched hand.

"Thanks, man."

"You know everyone is coming over for beers on the deck later," Bozer predicted.

Mac felt something sink inside him. He knew. It was their tradition. But part of him just wanted to curl up in the dark and breathe.

"Yeah, I know."

"You gonna be okay to make it home?" Bozer asked. "I got a couple things to cover here in the lab, first."

Mac nodded, heading out to the parking garage, not really looking at anyone or anything as he made his way to his Jeep. He couldn't seem to stop replaying the day in his mind. The realization that there were two triggers. That this man was better than The Ghost.

That his only choices were bad and worse. That his father's advice, while not implicitly stated, was that he sacrifice his friend.

And that Charlie took the burden of choice away from him.

It took him almost a full minute to realize that he'd climbed into the passenger side of his Jeep, rather than behind the wheel. He glanced over at the empty driver's seat and huffed out a self-deprecating laugh, his memory crowded with instances and images of Charlie—weighed down by eighty pounds of gear—driving their Humvee, heading from IED to IED, knowing every time he got out of that transport, he may not be getting back in.

Mac dragged a hand down his face, feeling the slide of tears beneath his fingers. He hadn't realized he was crying. He didn't want to cry. Not now. He needed to get through tonight. Just get through the rest of this twenty-four-hour cycle and then he could figure out what to do next.

How to honor Charlie. How to keep his promise.

_Don't think about him. Don't feel it. Don't think about how he died. Don't think how he spared you from making the choice. Don't think how he saved you, again. _

Taking a breath, Mac climbed over the gear shift and settled behind the wheel. Adjusting the rear-view mirror, he startled as he thought he caught a glimpse of Jack in the reflection. Feeling ridiculous, Mac twisted around, staring at the empty back seat.

Sighing, Mac rubbed at this forehead with the heel of his hand. Whatever his traitorous mind was trying to tell him, he was not ready. Just…no.

_Don't think about him. Don't feel it. _

He didn't remember the drive home. One minute he was sitting in the Phoenix parking garage, the next he was in his driveway. He really hoped he'd hit all green lights along the way. Heading inside, he grabbed a shower, pointedly ignoring the bruise on his chest.

By the time the sun had set and the lights of Los Angeles were illuminating their skyline view from his deck, Bozer and Riley had arrived with beer and Mac was exhausted. He smiled at Matty's reassurance that they had every available asset searching for Mason and clinked his beer with Bozer and Riley in a shared promise of bringing Charlie's killer to justice.

They didn't need to know that he had no intention of meting out their usual version of 'justice'. Charlie deserved more.

He deserved _vengeance_.

As the group looked out across the Los Angeles hillside, Mac felt something give inside of him, that sinking feeling he'd had earlier growing. As if he were falling in the dark.

It felt…wrong to be standing here with his friends—his family—when Charlie would never be able to do this again. He would never have a beer again. Or look at these lights again.

His hand slid on the condensation of his beer, shaking him back to the present.

_Don't think about him. Don't feel it. _

Over Riley's head, he saw Desi join them and felt a rush of something a bit larger than gratitude, but not quite happiness. He moved around the group to greet her.

"Hey," he said, painting a smile in place. "I wanted to, uh…to thank you. For saving my father. I heard what you did was a little, well…risky."

Desi's responding smile was almost shy. It surprised him. "I only did what I thought you would do," she replied. "Guess you're rubbing off on me."

His smile relaxed into something a bit more genuine. "Well, thanks. You want a beer?"

She never stayed for a beer. She never stayed, period.

"Sure," Desi replied. "I got some time."

Mac drew his head back slightly in surprise. "Look at that."

She tilted her head, here dark eyes seeming to suddenly measure him. "Actually, I just got off the phone with Jack."

The sinking feeling grew. How could he tell Jack that he'd let Charlie die? What would he think about him after he heard that?

_Don't think about him. Don't feel it. _

"Really?" He fought to keep his voice even, casual. "How's he doing?"

Desi narrowed her eyes, as though calculating his response. "He seems good. I tried to catch him up on things," she said, shrugging. Mac felt himself go cold. She'd told him. He _knew_. "But you know him. Couldn't get a word in."

Jack knew about Mason. About Charlie. About Mac's failure. _He knew_. Mac forced himself to take a slow breath, his heart slamming against his ribs as though the adrenalin shot had never worn off.

"Point is," Desi continued when Mac didn't respond. "He's still tracking down Kovacs, so…looks like you're stuck with me a while longer."

Mac swallowed hard. "Well, I…uh. I miss him. But…I'm glad you're on the team."

Charlie had helped save Jack's life when The Ghost wired Mac's house as a kill box. Jack had gone across the world to save Worthy, a friend to him as Charlie had been to Mac. Jack wouldn't have let Charlie die.

_Don't think about him. Don't feel it. _

"Glad to be here," Desi was saying.

Mac tried to pull his attention forward, focus on now. Desi was standing on his deck for longer than she had since she joined the team. He needed to find a way to keep her there, keep with the traditions, make sure no one looked too closely at him, telling him it was okay if he wanted to talk.

God help him, he did _not_ want to talk. He wanted to hide. To disappear. To sink inside himself.

"Look," he said, grabbing Desi's attention once more. "When it comes to…y'know, to why you owe him? Tell us in your own time. No pressure."

Desi tilted her head and this time she didn't look like she was measuring him. In fact, if he were to guess, it looked like she was…interested in him.

"How about next week we grab a bite to eat? You tell me about Cairo, and I'll tell you about why I owe Jack."

Mac smiled, nodding. "It's a date." Oh, shit. "I mean…uh, it's like a figure of speech. A social…y'know. Appointment."

And now she was laughing at him. This was going well.

"I know what you meant, egghead. It's fine."

Mac closed his eyes briefly in embarrassment. When he opened them, he saw his father move into the living room, sitting down on the couch. He frowned, puzzled. He couldn't remember the last time his father had willingly walked into this house, let alone join them for after-mission beers.

"Beer's over there," Mac nodded toward where Bozer and Riley were leaning against the railing. "Help yourself."

"Will do," Desi replied.

He made his way into the living room, crossing to his dad as the man rose to his feet. Hugging his father still felt…odd. Like they didn't quite fit together.

"Glad you're safe," Mac said into his father's shoulder, trying a smile on for size as he pulled away. James was looking at him with heavy eyes. A stranger's eyes. "You want to come join us? Get a beer?"

"Angus, I think you should sit down," James replied.

Mac felt the pit inside of him roar suddenly forward, the blackness seeming to swoop around him and tug.

"Everything okay?" he asked, hearing the strain in his voice.

He didn't sit.

He went still. Holding himself motionless, bracing for his father's next words.

"In Mexico, I promised to always keep you in the loop. Never lie to you again."

Mac nodded once. "Yeah, I remember."

James spread his hands to his sides, as though in surrender. "And the change has been great. It's kind of the way I'd always hoped things could be between us."

Mac fought back the voice inside of him that shouted _you had fifteen years_. He'd been fighting to silence that voice for months now. It had too much weight for peace.

"Yeah," he replied, feeling the room press around him. "Me too."

James took a breath and Mac saw him set his jaw. "That's why it's only fair I think you should know there's more to Mason's story. You deserve the whole truth."

_Don't think about him. Don't feel it. _

"The 'whole truth'?"

"As I said, sometimes there's only choices between bad and worse."

_Don't think about him. Don't feel it. _

Mac felt the air around him thin out. "Don't tell me his son died for nothing."

"Just the opposite," James shook his head. "He died for the most important thing I can think of."

_Oh, God_.

After all these years. After all that time. Watching him, using him, manipulating him.

And now his father brought forward the truth. _This_ truth. This truth that caused death.

So _much_ death.

Just not his.

"What are you trying to tell me?" Mac managed. But he knew. He already knew.

"The intelligence asset on that op, the person he died for…was you."

Mac felt the blood rush from his face, leaving him dizzy. It was his fault. Charlie died…because of _him_. He didn't just not save him…he got him killed.

"Understand," his father was saying. "It was my decision. It was the only one I could make."

Rage shot through Mac, hot and clean and perfect in its ferocity. His decision. _His decision_?

He decided to walk out. To leave. To fucking _hide_ from his own son for fifteen years, using him as an instrument. A tool. And now he dared to use his love as a father to justify….

"You understand," Mac shot back, his voice trembling with rage, with pain, with the absolute unfairness of it all, "that Charlie gave his life to save innocent people. His _life_, Dad. Which is _exactly_ what I would have done. Had you ever thought…ever _once_ thought to give me that choice."

James shook his head, his eyes sorrowful, as he lifted a hand, reaching out in a plea for understanding

"What you did…," Mac curled his fingers into a trembling fist. "What you did violates everything I believe in."

"Angus—"

"I think you should leave."

James stared at him a moment, but Mac clenched his jaw, refusing to give way. His eyes burned, body coiled into something tight and bright with fury. And pain.

God, he _hurt_. Everything, all of him. And yet his father stood and stared.

James exhaled slowly, his breath seeming to seep into Mac's soul like a cloud of sorrow. He waited as the man moved quietly past him, exiting through the front door and closing it behind him. The room seemed to close in, the knowledge that Mason had gone on his warpath not just because of James but because of Mac himself was like a noose at his neck, pulling tighter with each breath.

"Mac?" Riley's voice came at him from the deck, curious, questioning, and not a little worried. "You coming back out?"

"Uh, no, listen," he cleared his throat not turning around. "I think that adrenalin shot's finally wearing off. I'm gonna go crash."

He heard Riley step into the living room.

"You okay?"

Taking a quick breath, Mac turned around, giving her a small smile. "Yeah, just…y'know. Tired. You guys stay. I'll check in with you later."

Riley frowned at him but nodded.

"Tell the others?" he asked.

"Sure, Mac. Get some rest."

He smiled again, then headed to the back of his house and the safety of his room. He didn't bother turning on the lights; he simply sank down on his bed, dropped his head into the hammock of his hands and breathed.

The house was quiet. He could hear the low murmur of voices as one by one, each of his friends left until Bozer was the last. He heard Bozer shuffle down the hall to his room, felt him breathing on the other side of the door, listening. Then heard him shuffle back across the house. He appreciated his friend checking on him but was so glad he hadn't opened that door.

He just…couldn't. Not now. Not with Charlie….

_Don't think about him. Don't feel it. _

He was suddenly bone-weary. He toed off his boots, leaning back with a soft groan to lay on his bed, not bothering to get undressed or climb between the sheets. He just wanted to sleep. To sleep and to forget. Just for a moment.

Forget that a man who'd saved his life countless times was dead because of him.

Mac closed his burning eyes, the sting of tears slipping beneath his lashes and tracing a path across his temples. He felt the pressure of sorrow against his chest, his heart pushing back desperately. He wanted to cry—to scream, to wail, to thrash against the reality of a world without his friend.

But instead, his body gave way to exhaustion and he finally, _finally_ fell into the black.

He was standing in front of the elevator, the glass panel separating him from Charlie. He watched the glass spiderweb and he pressed his hand against the cracks, slicing his skin on the fragments. Tears of blood ran from Charlie's eyes.

"Why, Mac?"

_I'm sorry!_ He screamed, but his voice, his words were swallowed up, a silence so loud it seemed to crush him. _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!_

He pressed both hands against the glass, the cracks growing beneath his fingers, seeping into his skin. Charlie stared at him with accusing eyes and Mac felt his hands begin to crack, skin splitting until blood smeared against the glass leaving a perfect, red handprint behind when his lifted it.

He took a step back, looking at his bloody hands, the broken skin spreading up his arms, across his chest, up his neck to his face. He looked back through the cracked glass and saw Jack staring back at him, eyes dark and hollow.

"It should have been you."

Mac sat forward with a gasp, his body trembling, his clothes plastered uncomfortably to his skin. He ran a shaking hand through his sweat-soaked hair and blinked in the darkness. Unable to shake the last vestiges of the dream, he turned on the bedside light and swung his feet over the edge of the mattress.

He needed to get out of this room. To move, to escape.

Making his way to his bathroom, he turned on the light, half afraid to look at his reflection in the mirror. He splashed cold water on his over-heated skin, then blinked the water from his lashes while regarding his own reflection.

No blood, no cracked skin. Just shadows of a guilty mind bruising his eyes.

He straightened up, grabbing the towel to dry his skin…when he saw it. Tucked into the corner of the mirror where he'd put it all those weeks ago.

The card.

Jack's special Bat Signal, just for him.

He'd wanted to call so many times. _So many_ times. He'd just wanted to hear Jack's voice, ground himself back into a world where his best friend and partner had his back, watched him, knew him. But he hadn't let himself—it wasn't fair to Jack.

Pulling the card from the corner of the mirror, he turned it over in his hand, running his thumb over the numbers written in Jack's unique scrawl.

Desi had 'caught him up', she'd said. Jack already knew what Mac had done. Maybe he wouldn't even answer. Maybe he was too ashamed.

His room felt too small. Quietly, he slipped down the hall in bare feet, his cargo pants feeling rough against his overheated skin, his shirt untucked and twisted from his nightmare. He headed to the open deck, Jack's card in one hand, his phone in the other.

A zephyr of cool air slipped through the night to wrap welcoming arms around him. He made his way over to the railing, looking out at the lights for a moment, then sank down to the floor, his back against the wooden slats of the railing.

He stared at the number in his hand for several minutes longer, seeking a path that didn't lead to this.

Something that he could hold onto, give himself traction, give himself balance. Something he could use to get through tomorrow. And the next day. Something that would help him face his father again. Help him find Mason. Help him avenge Charlie.

Something _not Jack_.

He was dialing before he was truly conscious of it. The phone rang twice before he heard a click and then Jack's drawl echoed in his hear.

"_You know what to do, bud."_

Voicemail.

"Uh, hey…it's me," he started, stammering over how to begin, feeling both relief and disappointment that Jack hadn't been waiting for his call. "But you know that already. Bet you wondered if I'd ever turn on the Bat Signal, huh? Tell you the truth…I didn't want to call. I, uh…I _wanted_ to be able to handle stuff on my own. But…," he took a slow, shaky breath. "But something…something real bad happened today. Charlie…."

Tears pressed a fist against the back of his throat, choking him. "Charlie was k-killed. And...it was because of me." His voice broke over the last word. He could feel control slipping through his fingers as though he was gripping sand. "I can't get his face outta my head, man. I keep…I keep trying to catch him. Keep trying to stop it. But I can't…and I…," tears burned tracks down his face, "I don't know what to do."

Pulling in a trembling breath, he cleared his throat, trying in vain to gain control of his emotions. "So, if you're at a place you can call me…I…uh," he sniffed, swallowing hard, forcing the words out. "I need you, Jack."

He cut off the connection, the phone sliding from his hands to land with a _thunk_ on the wooden surface of the deck. He pulled his legs up to his chest, bracing his elbows on his knees and pressing his palms to his eyes. He trapped a sob in his chest like a prisoner, his will a warden.

The pain of this moment was too much—the reality too overwhelming. If he let it win, it would drown him, and he wouldn't be able to find solid ground on his own. He sat perfectly still for a long stretch of time—long enough he started to shiver in the cool night air.

"Hey, bud."

Mac jerked, startled, certain he was hearing things. He dropped his hands, his tear-blurred vision wavering. A man stood across the deck from him, next to the recessed fire pit. He was dressed in dark clothing, his hair close-cropped, a beard framing his jaw. In one hand he gripped a jacket, and in the other, a phone.

"I got your message."

Mac gaped at him, blinking. "Jack?"

Jack made his way carefully across the deck until he was close enough Mac could see him clearly. He crouched down when he was next to Mac, his knees popping from the motion. He looked tired, a little smudged from the road, but the same.

He looked exactly the same.

"I'm so sorry, bud," Jack said softly, an aching sadness framing his words.

Mac froze, fighting to hold in the emotion, fighting the instinctive need to let go, to be cared for, protected. His breath stilled in his chest; his eyes wide in the darkness. Jack reached out a careful hand, its weight finding a home on Mac's shoulder.

"I am so, _so_ sorry about Charlie."

It hit Mac then, the weeks without Jack by his side, the weeks before that when he worked to face each trial on his own, the knowledge that James had sacrificed another man's son for his own, facing a bomber more-skilled than The Ghost, the look on Charlie's face when the elevator dropped—it all crashed against him in a tsunami of pain and emotion and Mac felt himself shatter.

As he folded in on himself, Jack was reaching for him, twisting his body so that they were side-by-side, pulling Mac close so that his face was buried in Jack's shoulder. Mac grabbed at Jack's shirt, curling his fingers into the material and holding on as wave after wave swept over him and he wept.

"I gotcha," Jack breathed, his voice a vibration of sound against Mac's skin. "I got you, brother."

Jack held on, his grip solid, practically rocking him as Mac's pain poured out, spilling over them.

"I can do…all these things," Mac sobbed. "But I couldn't…couldn't save him."

"It's not your fault," Jack whispered against his hair.

"I t-tried," Mac gasped. "I tried every…_everything_. None of it…none of it worked."

"It's not your fault, Mac," Jack repeated, tightening his hold.

"He looked at me…he _knew_." Mac felt his breath rasping and skipping. "I watched him fall."

"It's not your fault," Jack said, this time his voice was like a shove. "You hearin' me, man? It's _not your fault_."

"But…see, that's just it…," Mac pushed slightly against Jack, pulling his hot, tear-soaked face away from Jack's shoulder. "It is. Desi didn't know, so she couldn't tell you."

Jack shifted so that he was leaning against the wooden slats next to Mac, aligning their shoulders so that Mac could melt against him. Mac was too tired to resist.

It felt like he'd been granted a reprieve from learning to live with a missing limb. For this moment, he felt whole again.

"Mason made the bombs to get to my dad," Mac said, sniffing. He dragged a hand down his face, trying to banish the tears. "He blamed him for his son's death—his son was killed in an op where an _intelligence asset_ was prioritized over the men in his son's unit."

Mac was quiet for long enough the truth slipped through the silence.

"Son of a bitch," Jack murmured. "Let me guess…you were that asset."

"And my dad, he…when I was trying to figure out a way to…," Mac flopped a hand in his lap, seeing the elevator in front of him, Charlie behind the glass. He rolled his neck, the memory a hand at his throat. "To stop the bomb, my dad told me that sometimes, you have to pick between bad and worse."

"One man or a thousand," Jack nodded.

"But, see, _he_ didn't make that same choice," Mac huffed. "He chose me. He told me it was the only decision he could make."

"Gotta say, I understand where he's coming from there," Jack sighed.

"He chose me, and because of it, Charlie's dead." Mac felt the rage seeping from him leaving in its wake a hollow sadness that he wasn't sure he'd ever get past. "And I don't know where to put that. Inside me. I feel like I need to…to burn it out somehow."

Jack sighed, letting Mac's words settle between them for a bit. When he spoke up, it was with a voice older and heavier than Mac had ever heard coming from his friend.

"Mac…the last few weeks I've been living with guys who've given up listening to the better angels of their nature and the devil on their shoulders is their very best friend."

Mac couldn't see Jack's face the way they were sitting, but he felt the older man's muscles shift as he took more of Mac's weary weight against him.

"They got like that because they stopped caring. They let life turn them mean. They focus on the job, the mission, seeing it through. Nothing else matters to them."

Mac waited, sensing a fragile stillness between them, as though once broken, it would never be whole again.

"They walk around…heavy, y'know? Like gravity has a different effect on them. Pulls on them stronger, somehow."

Jack shifted again and this time Mac moved slightly away, looking at Jack, his friend's face blurred in the mix of star and city lights. Jack's eyes were like twin coals burning in the dark, staring at him with intensity he'd rarely seen in the man.

"That's the road you're fixin' to walk down right now," Jack said. "You pick up this…this vengeance and you'll never set it down."

"Charlie deserves justice, Jack," Mac argued, the fact that he was staring at his friend again after all this time rather surreal.

"Justice ain't the same as revenge, kid," Jack said quietly. "You got this way about you—I never really understood it, but I always respected it. You see the good in people, even the assholes of the world, and there are plenty of those out there. I don't want you to lose that…not for anything. Or any_one_."

Mac glanced down, then back up to Jack, waiting.

"You compartmentalize better than any person I ever met—you find a box and you shove your pain inside, and you close that lid tight," Jack continued. "But one of these days, that box is going to get too full and all that pain is going to spill out."

"So…what are you saying?" Mac frowned.

"I'm saying you _feel it_, man." Jack pressed a closed fist against his sternum. "I'm saying you feel what Charlie meant to you—you feel the times he saved your ass…_our_ asses. You feel what a good guy he was and how much you miss him."

Mac felt his eyes burning again as Jack spoke, tears balancing on his lashes for a moment before he blinked them down his face.

"You feel it _all_ and you let it drive you forward. You let it shape you into a man who puts guys like Mason behind bars," Jack tilted his chin down, staring hard at Mac, "not into guys like Mason."

Mac blinked. "And what about my dad?"

Unspoken words swam beneath the surface of Jack's expression. For the briefest of moments, Mac couldn't help but wonder about the things Jack was busy _not _saying. Whole paragraphs of feeling were often held in the man's eyes, waiting for an avenue to reach the surface, but before they could escape, Jack deflected with a quip or a quote or a pop-culture reference.

A wall of misdirection shielding a depth only a few ever glimpsed.

But Mac saw it now and knew that Jack's next words were the ones he felt Mac needed to hear, not the ones he wanted to say.

"Your dad didn't know what would happen as a result of his decision that day," Jack sighed. "All he could do was save you. I've been there, bud. I would choose you over the world any day, you know that. You and I've both had to make hard decisions—life and death decisions—and we don't know what might still be waiting out in there in the world for us because of them."

Mac looked down. He wasn't so sure his dad hadn't known.

"All we can do is our best with the information we have, bud."

"You've turned into a philosopher," Mac said quietly.

"Guess you rubbed off on me," Jack teased, bumping him gently with his shoulder.

Mac chuffed. "Desi said something like that earlier."

Jack took a slow breath. "She didn't give you up, you know," he said. "She was just worried that this one you wouldn't be able to handle on your own."

"She was right," Mac sniffed, rubbing at his gritty eyes. "I should've called you a long time ago."

"You called me when you needed me," Jack shrugged.

Mac sighed. Only he hadn't. He'd needed Jack so many times before…this was just a keyhole view. A thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Jack…how'd you get here so fast?"

"I was in the neighborhood," Jack replied, a sly grin in his voice.

"Bullshit," Mac called his bluff.

"It's true…if you consider the northern hemisphere a neighborhood."

"Someone called you before me, didn't they?" Mac asked, eyes darting in thought. "Couldn't have just been Desi, there wasn't enough time."

"She caught me mid-flight," he confessed. "Probably thought I was a lunatic, way I wouldn't let her get a word in."

"Matty," Mac surmised. "She was the one to give me the card…she had to—"

"Wasn't Matty, kid," Jack said, bumping his shoulder. "Ain't it enough that I'm here?"

It probably should have been, but it wasn't. He'd needed Jack, but he was expecting a phone call, the anchor of his voice. Not this. Not actual flesh-and-blood contact. In fact, the only one he could think that would have been able to get through to Jack fast enough to tell him about Charlie was—

"Holy shit," Mac breathed. "My dad."

Jack let the silence be his answer.

"When?"

"About…eighteen hours ago now," Jack revealed.

Mac calculated quickly. That was before Mason escaped. Before he'd told Mac the truth. James had to have called Jack when he was still inside the safe room.

"How'd he know?" Mac breathed. "He's never stepped in before, not once. Why now?"

"Kid, the man has been watching you for over fifteen years," Jack reminded him. "You don't watch someone that closely for that long and not know when they're spiraling…and how to catch them."

He _wanted_ to hate the man. He wanted to lay the full, unmitigated blame for Charlie's death at his father's feet. He wanted to use this to walk away from _him_ this time. To be justified in his abandonment.

But he couldn't do that. Not now. He didn't honestly know if he would have ever been able to.

"When do you have to leave?" Mac asked as the quiet yawned once more.

Jack huffed. "I shoulda already left," he chuckled. "I'm technically not here."

"I figured." Mac let himself sink against Jack's shoulder, feeling the world pull him down.

"Just rest a minute, kid," Jack said softly. "No one's gonna come after me just yet."

"I'm glad I called," Mac admitted, his eyelids growing heavy from exhaustion and grief. "I'm glad _he_ called."

"Me too," Jack said, hooking an arm around Mac's shoulders and pulling his head down, his fingers resting in Mac's hair.

Neither spoke. It was as though all their words had been used up. And in the silence that surrounded them, Mac felt a timid sense of peace slide beneath his skin.

He closed his eyes, hovering in the space between dreaming and waking, warm against Jack's side. At one point he felt a blanket drop across them and heard Bozer's voice whispering in the dark but didn't stir or open his eyes.

"It's good to see you, Jack."

"Hey, Boze."

"I'm guessing you won't be here in the morning."

Mac felt Jack nod.

"I don't know how you pulled this off, but I'm glad you did," Bozer confessed. "He's needed you. He just refused to admit it."

"He'll get there," Jack said softly, his low voice a rumble against the side of Mac's face.

"Yeah, well. He's not been the same without you. I'm glad you showed."

"I was never here," Jack whispered.

"Right."

Mac resisted smiling, letting the peace pervade and sink into the darkness inside of him, pulling him low enough he no longer heard the hum of traffic, or smelled the cotton and diesel-fuel scents from Jack's shirt, or felt the steady _thrum thrum thrum _of his friend's heartbeat.

He was adrift, his mind finally, blessedly quiet.

When he woke, he was alone.

His body was stiff, his hand asleep from where it rested beneath his head, the blanket Bozer had brought outside wrapped securely around him. He sat up, rolling his neck, and looked over toward the hills. The sun stretched lazy arms at the edge of the horizon, turning the world below into a valley of diamonds as the light glinted off street signs and rooftops. Traffic went from a hum to a roar, and the last of the stars winked out in the west.

Pulling himself to his feet, Mac wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, casting about for any sign that Jack had actually been there, that he hadn't dreamed the whole thing. Pinned beneath his discarded phone, was a card.

Frowning, Mac picked it up, realizing that it was the same one from before, only this time, something was written on the back.

_You just keep thinking, Butch. That's what you're good at. When you need me, you know what to do._

Mac smiled. "You have vision and the rest of the world wears bifocals," he said softly, slipping Jack's card into his pocket, then turned and headed inside to face the day.

END

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**a/n:** Thank you for indulging me. It felt good to write something this weekend-I hope you enjoyed. I'd love to hear from you.


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